


So far, so good

by Achromos



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Feelings Realization, Found Family, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Planet Scar Syndrome | Geostigma, Plans For The Future, Terminal Illnesses, Turk (Compilation of FFVII)-centric, Turks (Compilation of FFVII)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28378965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achromos/pseuds/Achromos
Summary: For so long, Tseng believed that he would die in service of Shinra. Then, he had to come to terms with the fact that Rufus might die before him. That Tseng could do nothing to prevent it.But then neither of them died. What now?
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 68
Kudos: 44





	1. Stigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tseng struggles to come to terms with Rufus' mortality. Geostigma looms over all of their heads, but then the emergence of a new enemy forces their hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short warning, there are going to be discussions about death or dying, so if you are uncomfortable with that, please tab out!

For someone with a job as unpredictable as his, Tseng had always liked a certain sense of order. Having his rituals and a structure to his daily routine helped him to stay calm and even-keeled even during the most tumultuous times in his life. Self-discipline made him the man that he was, and there were only very few things that could throw him off balance. A fact that he prided himself in.

They had established a new sense of normalcy over the duration of their stay at Healen Lodge. Ever since finding Rufus Shinra, Tseng and his Turks had regained their purpose. For now, there was little else to do except to bide their time and work from the shadows - but the Turks were used to that.

Geostigma had thrown a wrench in the President’s plans to rebuild the world, sure. That Rufus had contracted the strange illness himself was a setback. But Tseng was sure that the man would overcome that, as he had everything else. At Rufus’ side, following in his path, anything was possible.

Or so he told himself. It was like a mantra at this point.

Tseng woke up at 5am like usual, not needing an alarm to rouse him from sleep. The house was still quiet. These early hours before dawn were Tseng’s, and Tseng’s alone.

After showering and getting dressed in his Turk suit, Tseng headed into the kitchen to start preparations for the day. Coffee, in copious amounts for their thirsty Turk mouths. Eggs sunny side up for Elena. Scrambled eggs for Rude. Sausages and beans for Reno. Soft bread rolls and marmalade for Rufus. Juk for himself.

Cooking all of that took time, but it was … nice. Peaceful. Hours spent just stirring, baking, and preparing food for the people that might as well be his family.

“Mornin’, Chief.”

“Good morning, Elena.”

“Mm, smells good!” she said, peeking at the stove. “Need some help?”

“You could set the table, and have Rude help you serve. I will bring this to the President.”

“Sure thing. Say hi to the boss for me.”

“Will do.”

He put the bread rolls, still warm from the oven, fresh marmalade, clotted cream and a pot of coffee on a tray to carry to the President’s room. After a perfunctory knock he entered.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” he said pleasantly, breathing deeply and calmly despite the smell of sweat and death hanging in the air. “Shall I open a window?”

A low, rattling breath. “Thank you, Tseng.”

“Elena conveys her morning greetings as well.”

“That is kind of her.”

Routine. The same steps, the same movements, the same order. Certainty in a world where nothing was certain anymore. He opened the window, drew the blinds and served the President his breakfast.

“Shall I change your bandages now or would you like a bath first?”

Rufus took a moment to swallow painfully, washing down his bite of food with a swig of coffee.

“No bath.”

Peeling Rufus Shinra from all of his layers was both a lengthy task and an honor bestowed on very few. Tseng carefully unfolded the blankets and comforters to reveal the man beneath, dressed in a robe, his sleeping clothes, underwear and a shirt, and even further beneath that the bandages that failed to hide the full extent of his illness.

Some days Tseng wondered whether they even really helped. The sores looked painful, the fluid oozing from them seeping through the bandages no matter how often Tseng changed them.

At least now they knew that, whatever caused the stigma, it could not be contracted through physical contact. And so, Tseng did not avoid touching, attempting to soothe with gentle fingers that were made for killing and maiming.

The body that he wrapped in pristine white once more was brittle and battered. Thinner than ever before, though Rufus had never been built for mass, not like his father. The muscle and what little fat he’d had, it all sloughed off his bones now like wax off a candle.

Tseng held that fragile flesh, so precious and housing a mind so powerful, feeling like a supplicant before a saint.

They did not speak during this, and that, too, was part of their ritual. Tseng was not one for empty words, anyway. And Rufus hated hearing platitudes.

As he finished wrapping the last bandages around the President’s neck, Rufus spoke: “What are your plans?”

“Hm?” Tseng hummed calmly. “For today you mean?”

“No. For after.”

Tseng tied off the bandage, fussing with Rufus’ hair for a moment. Then, he carefully sat on the edge of the bed, meeting that glacial gaze with false calm.

“Please specify, sir.”

Rufus did not respond immediately, instead pouring himself another cup of coffee. As he did so, Tseng had to squash the urge to help him, seeing how his hands trembled.

“After,” he repeated after a small sip. “When all this is over. What are your plans, Tseng?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

Rufus sighed, the way he only did when Tseng had somehow disappointed him. He set down his cup of coffee, folding his hands in his lap.

“You always have backup plans for your backup plans, Tseng. You are meticulous like that. I just wondered what you intended to do when I die.”

Those words were like a slap to the face - so unexpected, that even Tseng, ever unflappable Tseng, could do nothing but stare for a few moments.

“What are you going to do when I’m gone?” Rufus asked, as if he hadn’t just tasked Tseng with imagining the impossible.

Rufus Shinra couldn’t die. The world, the Turks, Tseng needed him. He was their leader. Their visionary. Without him, what future was there?

Tseng the Turk began his life pledging himself to the Shinra Electric Power Company and the Department of Administrative Affairs. To Veld, his mentor and surrogate father and predecessor. He found his calling in his work, but he only fully realized the extent of his loyalty once he found the one man to lead them. His belief in the vision of the future that Rufus Shinra embodied was his purpose, the foundation of his existence. All that he did, the reason why his heart beat, why he breathed, why he got up every morning glad to be who he was and to do what he did, it was all because of Rufus Shinra.

A world without him was not a world Tseng wanted to imagine.

Speaking with a voice sounding far calmer than he felt, Tseng said: “There is no need to make plans for something that is never going to happen.”

“Be realistic, Tseng. This illness could claim my life any day. There is no cure- …”

“There must be!” Tseng snapped. “There must be a cure, or are you telling me you keep sending me, Elena, Reno and Rude on a merry goose chase? There must be a cure, and we will find it. You will not die.”

Rufus looked at him with his one eye, the other hidden behind a curtain of his fine, blond hair.

“Denial does not suit you.”

“What would you have me do, then? Give up?”

“I shall tell you what to do, then,” Rufus said calmly, like he wasn’t talking about preparations for his own death. “The Shinra Electric Power Company might not be what it once was, but I still have considerable wealth. I have drafted plans on how to implement the gil, the various stocks, land and properties under my name. They shall all be bequeathed onto you, as you are for all intents and purposes my second in command.”

“No,” Tseng gasped.

“I will have this world rebuilt, and the wrongs that the Shinra name has committed to this planet and its people undone. There are several charities that shall be supported with gil and resources, and the WRO must have the silent support of Shinra for the entirety of its operations.”

“Rufus, stop.”

“I want you to read this,” Rufus said, barging ahead without care for the way Tseng had jumped to his feet, as if ready to fight his words. He reached into his bedside drawer, revealing several thick folders and other documents. “It is all detailed in my testament. I trust that you will enact- …”

“I will do no such thing!” Tseng roared, kicking the drawer closed with such force that it bounced back open again.

“Tseng- …”

“You can’t do this. There is still time, we can still find a cure, I know we can.”

“All you need to do is sign- …”

“I refuse!”

Tseng stood there, chest heaving as if he’d been battling for hours. His ears were ringing. Had he really been shouting?

On the bed, Rufus only folded his hands again, smiling that small, frosted smile of his.

“Alright. This is only a contingency, of course. I did not mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.” Tseng smoothed a hand over his hair, adjusting his tie. Outwardly pristine again, inside he felt anything but. Rufus’ words had shaken him to the core.

“I did not take you for an optimist.”

“When it comes to you,” Tseng said, “always.”

He busied his hands with helping Rufus get dressed first. Then he started gathering the plates and silverware of Rufus’ breakfast spread, but it did not calm him. The routine was broken. Everything felt wrong now, even the way Rufus went out of his way to hand him the still half-full pot of coffee. When he brought the dishes into the kitchen, Tseng barely noticed the other Turks’ unnatural silence and probing eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Elena, if you would please help the President into his wheelchair. Perhaps a short trip outside?”

“It’s really windy though, Chief.”

He looked outside, startled.

“I forgot- …” He put down the tray with the dishes too hard, making them clatter loudly. Without checking whether something had broken or not, he hurried back to the President’s room. There, swaying on his feet, Rufus was trying and failing to close the window amidst fluttering curtains. “Sir, let me.”

By the time Tseng had managed to wrestle with the curtains and close the window, Rufus was already back in bed, slumped against his pillows. He looked pale, even contrasted against the white of his clothes and the white gold of his hair, turned to ash.

“Is there anything I could bring you?” Tseng asked.

“Just my PHS, please. I would like to make a few calls.”

Tseng obediently fetched the device for him, hovering uncertainly at Rufus’ bedside even as he dialled some number.

“What about us, sir? Any orders?”

“Just stay ready. Ah, Tuesti, yes it’s me. Good morning.”

Tseng quietly retreated then, leaving the door slightly ajar so they could get in quickly just in case.

He should get back to work, too. It had been a while since he heard from Veld or the other exiled Turks. Those who were still willing to help cast a wide net since the emergence of geostigma, trying to gather information on the illness and its potential causes. So far, they only managed to narrow down what it  _ wasn’t _ .

It wasn’t a natural illness. It wasn’t caused by mako. It had no clear progression, with those who contracted it lasting between days, weeks or even months until they succumbed to it.

The only thing they knew was that, so far, there was no way to cure it.

“How’s the boss?” asked Reno.

Tseng carefully sat down at the table with his subordinates - no, his surrogate family. Rude and Elena sat before their screens, working. Reno had before him his mag rod, disassembled, with various tools strewn around to tinker with his weapon.

“The President is fine.”

“And you, Chief?”

“Yeah,” Elena added. “We, um. We heard some shouting earlier.”

“Nothing to worry about. I am perfectly fine.”

He turned to his own work, his affinity for numbers often leading him to oversee the Shinra name’s vast wealth. Controlled influx and output. Like the steady beat of a heart the money and power gathered under Rufus’ name strove to restore life to a society wrecked by disasters.

His fingers hovered over the keys of his terminal, suddenly struck by Rufus’ earlier words. If he died, if he left all of his assets and holdings to Tseng … He would continue to do the same. Auditing. Accounting. Managing. But it wouldn’t  _ be  _ the same. Not without his purpose living and breathing just one room away.

“Chief,” Reno broke the uncharacteristic silence that had fallen over their group. “We know this is hard. It’s hard for all of us. But you especially.”

“How do you mean? I have been leading you all for a while now. Nothing has changed.” He looked up just in time to see the three Turks sharing unsubtle glances. “What is it?”

Reno made a few indecipherable gestures with his hands and Elena responded in kind, nearly knocking one of Reno’s tools off the table. With a sigh, Rude stepped up and said: “We mean your relationship with the boss, Chief. Such feelings must be a difficult burden to bear, on top of your duties.”

“My … relationship. Feelings.”

“Come on, Chief, there’s no need to hide it from us any longer. Why keep up the pretense? We all know you and the Prez are smoochin’.”

“Reno!”

Tseng just stared.

“Excuse me?” he managed to say, gritting his teeth.

“Chief, what Reno meant to say,” Elena jumped in and then stopped, looking sheepish.

“That you and the Prez are lovey-dovey. Bumpin’ uglies. Rockin’ the boat. Boning.”

He froze completely, time slowing down as his brain struggled to make sense of these words. Were they all implicating … that they thought that Tseng and the President … were in some kind of romantic, possibly sexual relationship?

“Oh gods, Reno, I think you broke the Chief.”

His left eye twitched. The mere thought of such a breach in protocol. The mere thought of- …

“Is he okay? I’ve never seen him turn this shade of red.”

“Chief can you hear me?”

“I think he stopped breathing!”

“Silence!” Tseng slammed his fists on the table, making all the devices and utensils on it jump and clatter. “How dare you to blaspheme the President thus. Such gossip is not becoming of individuals of your positions and stature. I will hear no more of this.”

Fuming, Tseng made his way to the downstairs training room, but not without overhearing Reno quipping: “Wait, so they’re not boinking?”

The sheer  _ gall _ .

He did not bother to remove his jacket, only wrapping his hands to perfunctorily protect his hands. Then he began to mechanically shift through several mixed martial arts sequences, letting his body move on autopilot while his mind worked.

He was off-kilter, firstly because of Rufus’ words, and then secondly because of his fellow Turks’ insinuations.

He was in denial, there was no questioning it. The mere prospect of Rufus’ death was enough to unbalance Tseng hard enough that he forgot all decorum and shouted at the President. It was a weakness, but one that he was unwilling to excise from himself. Because as devastating as the thought of losing Rufus was to him, the depth of his belief in the man was also what drove him, what made him the loyal servant that he was. And he was proud of that.

No. He would not just lie down and accept Rufus’ death. Not until he had to.

It was more difficult to come to any sort of conclusion regarding the second problem, however.

How had his fellow Turks come to such an absurd conclusion? Believing that he- …? It was almost insulting. Did they think so little of him? Did they not understand that he would never commit such a serious breach of conduct?

And Rufus. To even consider him debasing himself thus. Bearing his character in mind, perhaps the insinuation that he might lower himself far enough to entangle with someone in his service was not too far-fetched. However, in Tseng’s mind, Rufus was the future made flesh. A symbol more so than a man. He was pristine. Untouched and untouchable. Above such base, human concepts such as sex or love.

In all the years that Tseng had served Rufus, he had never seen him express any sort of interest, whether fleeting or not, whether carnal or romantic in nature. He admired that, perhaps because Tseng himself found the whole spectacle surrounding matters of the heart just as unnecessary.

Any other man in Rufus’ position would surely have strung scandal after scandal. One pretty body on each arm, exchanged nightly like so much couture. But not him. His scandals were more treasonous and scheming in nature, like the true intellectual that Tseng had come to know.

Mind over matter.

The names they called Rufus to his face Tseng knew were applied to himself as well, only behind his back. Broken. Heartless. Frigid.

Rufus was the kind of beauty that you couldn’t touch lest it freeze off your fingers. He could be perfectly charming if he wanted to be, dazzling his sharp edges until they seemed like diamonds. But his true smiles were a private rarity that Tseng had come to savor like a good vintage. Like dry champagne, perhaps. Pleasantly bitter and cold. Just this side of deadly.

But was it so unfair of other people to believe that there was more? And the way they had worded it, they had not meant it as an accusation. There was no reproach there. They … They had been supportive of the idea of a secret relationship. Encouraging, even. Wanting to ease the burden of said secrecy.

He had been unfair. Perhaps already pushed to the limit because of the prospect of Rufus’ death, and so it took very little to cross the line. But even so, he should not have shouted at his subordinates, his friends.

He wound down slowly, taking a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and hanging it around his neck to keep more perspiration from getting absorbed into his suit. When he went back upstairs, Rude and Elena were talking about the number of new geostigma cases in Junon. As soon as they saw Tseng, they stopped.

“Chief,” Elena piped up first.

“I owe you all an explanation, and an apology,” he began.

“We apologize too, Chief.”

He held up his hand, stopping any further interruptions. “Thank you. However, I have been unfair. Though there is nothing … romantic going on between me and the President, I believe that I should nonetheless be more open with you all.”

All of them, even Reno, sat up straighter, quietly sitting and watching him.

“The argument you overheard this morning was about the President’s future. He wished me to acknowledge the possibility of his impending death- …”

“What!”

“No way!”

“Hush, you two. Let the Chief finish.”

Throwing a grateful look at Rude, Tseng continued: “He seems to have drawn up his last will and testament. However, I refuse to accept this. We will do everything in our power to prevent those documents from becoming necessary.”

“Hell yeah!”

“I will not sugarcoat things. The President’s health  _ is _ declining. But I also know how strong and stubborn he is. He will come up with a plan. A theory. We have time. And we Turks, we complete the mission, no matter what.”

Faced now with the determined expressions in his Turks’ eyes, even Tseng believed in the impossible. Together they could do it. Strength in numbers.

When Reno and Rude returned from their mission to the Northern Crater, alone, with the remains of Jenova as their only passenger, Rufus wondered for the first time whether it was truly worth it. Sealed away in a container so small, it nonetheless felt heavy in his lap, hidden underneath his white veil of mourning.

The moment he sent them away, Rufus knew. There was no coming back from this.

He had almost lost Tseng once before, in the Temple of the Ancients. This was just fate righting its course. Taking back what Rufus had wrested from its hands.

No one ever thanked them for their sacrifices. His brave Turks. His brave Tseng. Willing to die, and for what? A brighter future?

He had his plan. His reasoning. His logic. A path to victory. A way to, perhaps, secure a future for mankind. This was the rational part of his mind, which he prided himself on.

Yet his heart screamed at him. Tseng was gone, so what did it matter anyway? He wanted to just throw the damned container out the chopper, and to hell with everything else. 

But no. He needed the blasted thing. He needed to draw out those Remnants. He needed to have them converge in Edge. He needed Cloud Strife and his friends. He needed everyone. It needed to happen exactly as he envisioned, though he had no idea how it would truly end. That was out of his hands. He only needed to believe that this would finally, irrevocably rid them of this terror, this plague, this stain upon the Planet.

And then? And then.

“Boss? We’re approaching Edge.”

He straightened his back from his slumped-over position, hands clenching around the container and the two bloodied Shinra ID tags he kept hidden. The pain in his body was almost enough to cripple him, but it was not yet too much to withstand. He still had a part to play in all this.

But once it was done … Oh, the sweet temptation of peace and rest.

He was so tired. If only he still believed in his vision of the future. If only there were none who relied on him.

Ah, who was he fooling? He was Rufus Shinra. There was only one thing he was good for: to dazzle, to look good, to draw the eye.

Well then. Let them come. Let Kadaj try. He was prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to manage expectations, I am not going to do a retelling of the events of Advent Children - this fic is going to focus mostly on the characters, introspection and feelings. Also, this is 100% my own interpretation. I'm fairly new to the fandom, and I hope I'm not treading on any toes with my take on things.


	2. Who am I to you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Advent Day, Tseng realizes that he doesn't know what he wants anymore. Rufus makes the Turks an offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally begins for real! This chapter is a bit longer than I intend the others to be, but I wanted POV sections in there. I hope this shows a bit better in what direction I intend this fic to go, so I hope you'll enjoy :)
> 
> Short warning for mention of Dark Nation and implied animal death. I love you, D :(

Their flight back to Midgar had been one desperation-fuelled nightmare. Tseng and Elena, both injured and at their limit, pulled out all the stops to make their way back. Pain, fatigue and paralyzing terror were nothing. Mere obstacles.

Still, Tseng’s heart nearly stopped dead in his chest the moment he saw Rufus hurtling towards death.

What if it had taken them longer to commandeer that chopper? What if they had encountered some other difficulties? What if he remained passed out for longer? What if they had been too late to catch him?

“It’s good to see you too,” Rufus just laughed, as if he had not just escaped certain death. Again.

And then … And then the rain came, to wash away the last remains of Jenova, the geostigma.

It was over. They were going to live. Rufus was going to live.

“Gaia,” Elena groaned, after they boarded the chopper to bring them back to Healen Lodge. “I need a long ass vacation after this.”

“You’ll have to ask the boss,” Rufus quipped, sending her and Reno into fits of laughter that quieted soon. Everyone was tired, heads nodding here and there. Rude was flying, and Tseng … Tseng was just sitting there, hanging in his seatbelt.

It didn’t feel quite real yet.

Geostigma was gone. Geostigma was gone, and Rufus was going to  _ live _ .

Once the chopper took off and they were drowned in the roaring noise of the engines and rotor blades, Tseng finally dared to look at Rufus, who was right next to him. He was still sitting in his wheelchair, instead of being strapped into one of the seats inside the helicopter, and the white cloth he had used to conceal himself with was slung around his shoulders like a blanket.

Just like Elena and Reno, he seemed to have nodded off. His head was tilted forward, chin resting nearly on his chest, and from this angle Tseng could see the bare nape of his neck. Free of bandages for the first time in months.

That pale, translucent skin looked so vulnerable. Unblemished. The stigma had left behind no traces at all, evaporated like a nightmare.

Without thinking, Tseng reached out. Touched that patch of skin, and the fine, silky hair at the back of Rufus’ head. When Rufus jumped, sitting up straight with a yawn that got drowned out by the engines’ roar, he suddenly looked so human. Gone was the brash, know-it-all brat from their youth. Gone was the man who stood on top of the world, who faced Diamond Weapon and survived.

The man tilting his head so Tseng’s palm cradled his skull was just that. A man. Not Tseng’s purpose, not his master, not the visionary or the leader. Just Rufus. The small smile playing in the corner of his mouth was heavy with so much emotion that Tseng’s heart ached.

Rufus raised his hand to take Tseng’s in his, entwining their fingers in his lap. With his free hand he reached into his suit jacket, mutely pressing something into Tseng’s palm and closing his fingers around it. Then, he let go, tilting his head back with closed eyes, a weary kind of finality.

The objects dug into Tseng’s skin first, and then into his soul. Even in the dim light they were flying in he could see his own face, his employee number and his Turk name, and the blood smeared over both.

His and Elena’s Shinra employee badges.

He ran his thumb over the smooth surface, rubbing until the blood flaked off. Whether it was his or Elena’s, or just added effect to put further pressure on Rufus, he could not say. But he knew what seeing these ID cards must have done to Rufus. Even knowing it was a manipulation attempt, he probably believed the implications.

This was partly why the Turks were so loyal to Rufus. He was as good as one of them. Even with parts of his plan failed, half of his subordinates missing and presumed dead, his own body betraying him, he still carried out the mission.

A Turk always gets the job done, no matter what.

He turned, looking at Rufus’ sleep-smooth face, his head tilted a little awkwardly against his wheelchair’s headrest. What did it mean that he returned these IDs to Tseng? They were virtually useless. There were no more doors to open with these. The Shinra Electric Power Company as such did not exist anymore. For all the world knew, they were all long dead. Or, in case of the Turks, they never really existed outside of their numbers and the names they adopted when they became Turks, knowing they would not shed their suits and these names until they died in the line of fire.

But that was it, wasn’t it? A Turk didn’t just quit. Being a Turk wasn’t just a job. It was what they were, down to the marrow of their bones. And though the Shinra company was no more, there was still  _ a _ Shinra they would follow.

Cradling the ID tags, Tseng closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander.

His pride in being a Shinra employee had risen and fallen over the years. He was originally recruited by Veld, his predecessor. He had been at a point in life where he did not believe in anything. Shinra was just a name printed on products. Someone you paid your bills to. A faraway construct. But he loved his training, and he felt pride in his talents.

Then, the war with Wutai broke out.

For a long time, Tseng had carved out the Wuteng inside him, fearing that being a Turk and being Wuteng was antithetical. He could not speak and think like the enemy while working to uphold the stability and supremacy of the Shinra Electric Power Company, now could he? He could, however, use his appearance and accent to do even better work. Like he thought his Wuteng identity was a tool at his disposal. Like the job mattered more than he did.

He was older now, and if not wiser then certainly less idealistic. And cutting off parts of himself like that he now thought had been foolish. He was who he was. It had no bearing on his work or the meaning he derived from it. Mideelian, Wuteng or resident of Midgar, what did it matter? As long as he was a good, loyal Turk.

But loyal to who? The late President Shinra? He was never particularly inspired by that man, even when he still fervently believed that what the Shinra company - and by extension Tseng himself - was doing was the best for everyone.

Loyal to Veld of the Turks? Yes, for a very long time. He was his mentor, his superior, his idol. Veld’s word was as good as law in a much younger Tseng’s mind. Veld lived and breathed the Turk creed - or so Tseng thought. Until he abandoned them for his daughter.

They all understood, that was the thing. None of them begrudged Veld his love for his daughter. And that was when Tseng realized. Being a Turk wasn’t about following orders down to the last letter.

Even Turks could have a conscience. Even Turks could feel things. Even Turks could have a moral code. Even Turks were human.

And that was how Tseng found his way to Rufus.

He’d known the boy for a while by then. In fact it was Tseng who trained and later presented the guard hound Dark Nation to a fourteen year old Rufus. He thought the brat would surely ruin a perfectly good hound or abuse it or use it to bully others.

But then he met eighteen year old Rufus, an idealist child’s mind in a man’s body, and he saw true loyalty in Dark Nation’s demeanor from where she was guarding Rufus’ back. Tseng had trained the hound into the perfect sentinel. But now she was even greater than that, because not only did she love her master - her master loved her in return.

Dark Nation lived and breathed for her master. And she eventually fulfilled that purpose, protecting her master, keeping him company until the end.

Was Tseng the same as Dark Nation? Were the Turks just exceptionally loyal and capable guard hounds, following their master because of their love for him?

He wondered. The world was safe now. They were rebuilding. But what good was a Turk, a spy, an assassin, a guard hound in a world like that? Was he obsolete?

He opened his eyes again to look at his hands. Calloused, scarred fingers and palms. Thick, sturdy knuckles that were trained into withstanding the force of a ruthless beating. With these hands he had killed and maimed in Shinra’s name. In Rufus’ name.

It was for Rufus to decide whether he still needed the Turks. Whether he still needed Tseng.

Why return their IDs? He still had no answer.

Eventually, Tseng relented and fell into a restless slumber, trusting Rude to pilot them safely back to Healen Lodge.

Rufus looked at the sight before him and felt such a surge of warmth and affection for the people that were more family to him than any blood relations. He looked at the spread of food - Rude had made pizza from scratch, and Elena tried her hand at baking cake, which she eventually had to relinquish to Tseng, who made gourmet-level cupcakes instead, and even Reno had cobbled together a surprisingly balanced and delicious seafood salad. Each and every one of these dishes was like sentiment given form. All Rufus was able to do was to open up his wallet and his cellar, making sure to provide the proper alcoholic beverages to go with a celebration such as this.

He knew he needed to say this now.  _ Or forever hold your peace _ , he thought darkly.

“Everyone,” he said, tapping his dessert spoon against the crystal of his wine glass. “Could I have your attention for a moment?”

Elena let out a squeak, nearly spilling her serving of champagne. Next to her, Reno quieted down and climbed off Rude, who stoically set down his cutlery. Tseng only needed to turn his head.

“Thank you. That is, thank you for everything. The years that we have been working together so far have been anything but easy. I have asked much of you all, yet you have repaid me with nothing but unwavering support and excellent work. What I mean to say is … Without each and every one of you, I would not have achieved half of what we set out to do. Without you, I would not be here. So,” he said, lifting his glass, “thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

“Aw shucks, boss,” Reno quipped. “We love you too.”

“We really do, though,” added Elena, her voice thick with emotion. “This is probably super awkward … But boss, you’re like a big brother to me. You all are. My teachers, my brothers in arms. You all know how I lost my sister. But with you guys, I’m- …”

She dissolved into drunken tears, only calming down after Rude awkwardly patted her back to console her.

“There, there, Elena. You know we all feel the same.”

“This is actually something else I wished to discuss with you all,” Rufus interrupted, clearing his throat. “An era has come to an end. Our future work will likely differ greatly from what I have asked of you so far. We will continue to work from the shadows, of course, but the skills required of you will most likely change.”

Next to him, Rufus noted that Tseng had stiffened in his seat, back even straighter than previously. His hands were clenched tight around his cutlery.

“What are you saying, Prez?” Reno asked, straightforward as always.

“I mean,” he said slowly, “that I would not begrudge any of you if you wished to leave. Go into exile, like your fellow Turks. Perhaps join your old Commander. Or change careers entirely.”

Silence fell at the table. Even Elena had stopped crying.

“What?” she muttered.

“I would like to give you a choice. You may leave, and choose your own destinies.”

“Or?” Tseng growled, the first thing he’d said since Rufus’ speech.

“Or you may stay in my employ- …”

He was interrupted once again, this time by the sound of a chair toppling to the ground. Tseng had jumped to his feet so quickly that his chair fell over. He then lost no time dropping to his knees at Rufus’ side, head bowed.

“I swore to stay with you until the end, and I will not break that oath now,” Tseng declared vehemently.

Rufus couldn’t help but chuckle, putting his finger under Tseng’s chin to lift his gaze.

“That is admirable and I am very flattered, but you didn’t let me finish.”

Tseng blushed beautifully, stammering: “A-apologies, sir. You were saying?”

“You are all welcome to stay. However, if you decide to do that, I would like to offer you the Shinra name.” It took them a moment to realize the implications of his words. Then, as Rufus saw Tseng’s eyes widen, heralding a litany of objections, he forestalled their protests: “You are still Turks. My Turks. A surname does not change anything about that. But it would … please me, to give you this. You are family, with or without the name. I would merely like to acknowledge that bond.”

“I’ll take it,” Reno was the first to say, meeting Rufus’ gaze head on with a cocky smirk. “Gonna open a lot of doors if I tell people I’m Reno Shinra, right?”

“It might also shut some.”

“Eh. None that weren’t already closed because I’m a Turk.”

“I’ll take it, too,” said Elena. “The family I was born into … I’ll never forget them. But this feels right. We’ll be a real family business!”

“What about you, Rude?”

Rude, so far, had not said anything. He usually reserved his words for when they were necessary, or to tease Reno. For someone who did not know him, he was a bit difficult to read. But Rufus had the impression that the man loved what he was doing, and that he wholeheartedly believed in their work.

“I would like to think it over. But I believe that I, too, will accept your offer, Mr. President,” he said, just as Rufus had expected.

“That is wonderful to hear.”

Which left only one.

Tseng had sat down again after his earlier outburst, giving away none of his thoughts. Now that everyone was looking at him questioningly, awaiting his answer, he still stayed quiet.

“I will think it over as well, sir,” he eventually said.

“Very well. In either case,” Rufus raised his glass, “let us celebrate!”

“To victory!”

“To Shinra!”

Conversation began flowing again, just as the food and alcohol. At the epicenter of the fun were Elena and Reno, who became more and more uninhibited as the evening turned to night. The only thing that kept them from acting out too much were their full stomachs. But even Rude hit a certain point - after his fifth bottle of beer or so - at which he let himself be roped into some outrageous drinking game that involved … taking off their clothes?

Rufus could only watch on, laughing as he nursed his second glass of wine, feeling like an ancient spoilsport. But though the stigma was gone, his body still felt the repercussions of an ailment that had nearly claimed his life. What’s more, today had been quite eventful.

He ended up nearly nodding off where he was sitting - if not for the shadow suddenly looming over him and looking at him with distant, brown eyes.

“Will you retire for the night?” asked Tseng, his true meaning hidden behind such polite words.

“I believe that would be for the best. Let the young ones have their fun.”

“But sir,” Tseng said smoothly, even as he wheeled Rufus down the hall and to his bedroom. “Except for Elena, we are all older than you.”

“Hah! No, Tseng, here you are mistaken. I was born old, you see.”

“Ah.”

A beat of silence had Rufus craning his neck to look up and behind at Tseng’s face, scrunched up in mock concentration.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir. For a moment I thought I saw a gray hair there.”

Rufus gasped dramatically, bringing the back of his hand to his brow.

“No! Tell me it’s not true!” he cried.

“It’s alright, sir, I believe it was a trick of the light.”

“It better be. Even m- …” He halted. “Did my father go gray? I must say I don’t know. Or did he dye it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know either, sir.”

Rufus hummed, rising from his wheelchair to sit on his bed. Tseng moved silently, perfect as always. He helped Rufus out of his shoes and clothes, and then brought him his toothbrush, some water and a basin to wash himself.

“I’m not sick anymore, you know,” Rufus said around a mouthful of foam.

“I know.”

“That means,” he poked Tseng in the thigh with his toes, “you don’t have to do this. Wait on me hand and foot like you’re a valet or something.”

“I know.”

Rufus could only sigh and spit out the toothpaste. He wiped his mouth with a towel and then reached out to pat Tseng on the head.

“You are so difficult sometimes.”

This garnered him an unimpressed glare, which then softened somewhat.

“Sir,” Tseng said. “About what you said tonight.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything. I understand.” Rufus smiled, hiding his hurt by snuggling under his bed covers. Of course Tseng would be the only one to refuse the Shinra name. Always professional. Always mindful to maintain proper boundaries.

“I don’t think you do.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

But Tseng was silent, sitting on the edge of Rufus’ bed. One hand was rubbing absentmindedly at his shoulder, where Rufus knew Tseng had been wounded. Even after a thorough treatment with Cure materia it probably still itched and stung.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it? Just this morning I thought you were dead,” Rufus muttered conversationally.

“Just a few hours earlier, if me and Elena had not been in time, you would have fallen to your death,” Tseng was quick to retort, throwing a glare at Rufus over his aching shoulder.

“Ah, but Reno and Rude were there, weren’t they?”

“They were not equipped to catch you. You didn’t tell them your plan. It was pure  _ luck _ .”

“Mm.”

“You had no way of knowing. Rufus …” He sighed and turned away. “You speak of the future and we see it like you envisioned it. You dream up a utopia, something so perfect that we cannot help but want it too. But right now, I am still caught in this. I am still in that crater, thinking I was going to die in service of the greater good. I am still scrambling, desperately hurrying to make it to Edge, to find my way to you. I still see you falling.”

“I didn’t really plan on jumping off that building, you know,” Rufus offered gently.

“Is that so?”

“I was dodging that counterfeit Sephiroth’s spell. Plus, I had to try and dispose of that cursed container.”

“So you just leaped off the side of the building?” Tseng sighed, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. What I mean is that I’m sorry I cannot give you an answer yet. I can’t think about what I want when I am still …”

“I told you. It’s alright. I understand.”

Tseng finally turned around, sitting now with one leg curled under him, the other hanging off the bed. His face was unreadable, and he remained silent for long enough that Rufus’ eyes started drooping.

“How can a man as self-centered as you be so magnanimous,” Tseng sighed after a while.

“It’s a talent of mine.”

“So it seems.”

Rufus blinked, letting his tired eyes rest for just a moment. The next time he opened them, Tseng no longer sat on the bed. Instead, he had gone to stand by the window, peeking outside through a gap in the curtains. His back, clad in his immaculate black Turk suit, the length of his hair spilling over it like night upon ink, was not as forbidding to Rufus as it was to others.

“Did you know,” Tseng murmured, quiet enough that if Rufus were asleep it would not wake him, “that the others had notions of you and me being- … That they believed we were in a romantic relationship?”

Those words drew Rufus from the precipice of dreaming into sudden wakefulness. He carefully modulated his breathing, remaining unmoving. It did not fool Tseng, who knew he was awake and waited for a response.

“How could they ever come to such a conclusion?” Rufus said, voice failing to meet the mark of disbelief. Instead, it trembled.

Tseng turned his head, not enough for their eyes to meet, but Rufus could feel his gaze nonetheless. Of course, he heard it. That steel-trap mind cataloguing every intonation, analyzing, dissecting evidence the way he might during an interrogation.

“I was offended at the mere suggestion, and I disabused them of that idea. But their words rang true. It was only after they pointed it out that I realized what it might look like to others. And then I started wondering.”

“Oh?” Rufus whispered. Under the covers, his hands balled into fists.

“Do you trust Elena?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And Rude?”

“Yes.”

“Do you care for Reno?”

“Well,” Rufus chuckled, “he can be quite annoying sometimes. But. Yes.”

“Then, what is it that makes me different?”

Rufus bit his tongue.

“What do you mean?”

Tseng finally turned around, looking at Rufus in the low light of the bedside lamp. It cut dark shadows and honeyed highlights across his face, which remained smoothly neutral. It had been years since Rufus had seen that face directed at himself. This was Tseng of the Turks. An apex predator that had caught the scent of blood. Rufus winced internally. He had just given him an opening, and Rufus knew what Tseng the Turk could do with an opening such as that, with his surgeon’s precision.

“You treat them with kindness. You trust them. You let them see you in a way that very few other people ever have. That’s why you offered them your family name,” he said. “But that’s the thing. There is a ‘them’, and a ‘me’. There is a difference, to you. That’s what they felt, instinctively.”

“You’re my trusted right-hand man. My second in command. Of course you’re different.”

“No. That’s not it.”

Rufus sighed deeply, letting all the tension bleed out of his body. Then, once he felt as heavy as a mountain, he drew himself upright, duvet pooling in his lap as he sat there and met Tseng’s searchlight gaze.

“Do we have to do this right now?”

“Perhaps not. You are tired, and- …”

Tseng paused, eyes catching on Rufus’ face, on some detail that Rufus could not control. He felt his expression petrify, like a shell of protection against that terribly intelligent mind that could read him like a poem.

“I did not think you were capable of keeping secrets from me still,” Tseng finally said, sounding almost awed. Or betrayed, perhaps.

“So we are doing this right now. Hah. It isn’t enough that we helped save Gaia today? You must wrest this from me as well?”

Tseng gave him the courtesy of looking chastised. But it did not stop him from pressing further.

“Do I not deserve to know? You demanded a decision from us today, and it was easy to answer for Elena, Reno and Rude, because they know where they stand with you. But I don’t. How can I decide? How can I even begin to explore what I want, if I do not know your mind?”

Rufus opened his mouth and closed it again, biting down on treacherous words.

“You don’t trust me,” Tseng said, and if Rufus did not know him so well, he would not have seen the hurt in the small pinch of his brow.

“Of course I trust you, Tseng. You just saved my life today.”

In response, Tseng only sighed heavily, finally letting his own weariness bleed into the way he held himself.

“Perhaps we should postpone this after all. We are both tired. You have only just recovered from a fatal illness. I should not have pushed you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

Silence fell, and from the other room they could hear Rude loudly cheering while Reno screamed something. At least some people were having fun.

“I can tell them to be quiet,” Tseng offered.

“No, no, don’t bother. I’ll pass out momentarily.” With a groan, Rufus dropped back onto his mattress, bouncing once with the force of it. “Goodnight, Tseng.”

A pause, and then: “Goodnight, Mr. President.”

Tseng turned off the lamp and left, closing the door behind him. In the darkness that followed, Rufus tiredly rubbed at his face and sighed, hoping that sleep would claim him quickly.


	3. Let's talk about Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tseng is still mulling over his decision and the conversation he had with Rufus. But he is getting pretty mixed signals, so he seeks help by asking for an outsider's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna try and have a Tseng and a Rufus POV each per chapter but this one is already over 3k and the next Rufus one is the same length, so ... we're getting two solo chapters back to back. Hope you don't mind :) Also, I'm currently writing and posting pretty quickly, but I don't want to set too high expectations. Usually, I am very slow.

Tseng woke up at 5am, like clockwork. Despite his sore muscles, pounding headache and the deep itch in his healing shoulder, he roused himself quickly. He washed his face, rinsed his mouth and brushed his hair like every morning. The only concession to comfort he made was by not putting on his Turk suit. Instead, he shuffled into the kitchen barefoot, in his pajamas.

He froze in the doorway, heart leaping.

Rufus was hunched over the counter, glaring at the coffee machine as if it had insulted him gravely. There were dark purple bruises under his eyes, and his hair was clearly uncombed, sticking out haphazardly in every direction.

“Sir?”

To his concern, Rufus barely reacted aside from heaving a deep sigh.

“This is agony,” he muttered in response. “I am convinced there is an inverse correlation between one’s desperation for coffee and this diabolical instrument’s speed at which it delivers.”

Tseng went to stand next to him, glancing at the machine.

“Sir, it might help if you pressed the start button.” He watched Rufus rub the bridge of his nose before reaching out to start the coffee machine. “Or you might consider going back to bed for a few more hours of sleep.”

“No, can’t do that.”

When Rufus didn’t elaborate further, Tseng sighed.

“Alright.”

He cleared and cleaned the counter, putting away the last remnants of last night’s celebratory feast. Then, he began preparations for breakfast, though likely the others wouldn’t wake up until it should be called lunch instead. No matter, what he had planned would take a while anyway, seeing as he was going to make two different kinds of dough from scratch.

He began with the bread roll dough, seeing as this one needed several hours to rise. He made enough to last them for a snack or dinner as well - they could make sandwiches or burgers. As he set it aside, Rufus peered over his shoulder.

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Measure out this amount of flour in this bowl, and add those eggs.”

And so, Tseng found himself with a sous-chef all of a sudden. He had Rufus prepare the egg noodle dough, while he himself began assembling the other ingredients, including the dumpling wrappers he’d thawed ahead of time. By the time Rufus was done, Tseng had only cut about half the vegetables he needed.

“Set it aside,” he instructed Rufus. “Get the minced beef and the prawns. You know how to peel and clean prawns?”

“Tseng, I’ve known how to dismantle a lobster since I was eight.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

They continued to work in silence, Tseng taking over cooking the dumpling filling and making the egg noodles, while Rufus formed the bread rolls and then set the table. Hours had already passed, and though Tseng was focused on his tasks, mostly relaxed in the familiar steps, he was also a little tense.

Last night’s conversation clung to his mind, making him wonder whether Rufus had forgiven him for prying yet. His feelings were clearly something that Rufus was unwilling to discuss with Tseng, but he made no indication of any discomfort, diligently working and doing a pretty good job for someone who likely hadn’t cooked in years, if ever.

They moved mostly in silence, like a well-oiled machine. A testament to the years spent working with each other. Rufus wasn’t one to balk at being ordered around by Tseng either, because he likely acknowledged his own inexperience. It was comfortable.

Rufus had left the kitchen after his PHS rang, no doubt Tuesti with some update or another. It left Tseng to wonder. Even as he kept an eye on the pots and pans on the stove and the oven, while wrapping the dumplings with practiced motions, his mind wandered, mulling over last night’s discussion.

There were only two plausible possibilities, and Tseng did not know how to feel about either of them.

The first possibility was that, all this time, Rufus had secretly disliked Tseng. He was professional enough, certainly, to continue working with someone even if he despised them. He needed Tseng, as he leader of the Turks, so it would stand to reason that if Rufus somehow had an aversion to Tseng, he might still be perfectly polite and efficient.

He hated the thought of it. But it was very unlikely, too. Surely, if Rufus hated him, he would not go out of his way to be so … friendly? To trust him so privately and intimately? If it was true, then the extent to which Rufus let Tseng into his innermost thoughts should be unthinkable, shouldn’t it?

He let all of the Turks see him more vulnerable than anyone else ever did. But Tseng truly thought that with him, Rufus had shown glimpses of his real self. That he was comfortable enough to let down all of his guards.

Well, clearly he had been wrong, and there were still some things Tseng did not know about him.

But if it wasn’t dislike, a veiled hatred or repulsion … then there was only one other, impossible possibility.

“Mornin’, Chief! Wow, smells good.”

“Can we help with something, Chief?”

“Good morning, Reno, Elena. No, actually, it will just be a few more minutes. You can sit down if you’d like.”

“Really?” Elena squeaked, peeking at the basket of cooling bread rolls, the dumplings bobbing in boiling water, and the sizzling pan of stir fry noodles. “I could set the table.”

“Rufus has already done that. Ah, but you could bring some condiments, and the bread basket with you,” Tseng said. As he scooped the finished dumplings into their respective soup bowls, he froze, noticing Reno and Elena’s strange expressions.

“The boss helped you?”

“Hey,” protested Rufus from the door. He seemed to have showered and gotten dressed in the meantime, presenting his usual polished self instead of the barely put-together mess he had looked earlier. “I’ll have you know I was instrumental to the success of this meal. Isn’t that right, Tseng?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Uh-huh, sure thing, boss.”

Elena and Reno kept wheedling Rufus even while the three of them helped Tseng to plate up. Rude joined them shortly after, carrying some more food to the table, including some leftovers from last night.

It was a veritable feast, with a little bit for everyone. There were the soft bread rolls, which they could turn into sandwiches with some of the meat and cheese Rude did not use for the pizzas, or they could eat them sweet with jam. Then there were some of the unused shrimps and prawns as a makeshift shrimp cocktail, and other ingredients Reno had used for his salad. The freshest additions were Tseng’s wonton soup and the large pot of stir fry noodles he had prepared. Filling and savory, just the perfect thing for their stomachs after overindulging previously.

Along with the food of course went a never ending supply of coffee to wake up, a refreshing tea blend, and water. They all stuck to this, except for Reno, who decided to cure his slight hangover with some hair of the dog.

The atmosphere at the table was relaxed and familiar, just like it had been last night. Like it always was. Elena and Reno, and even Rude to some extent, had lost all qualms about treating Rufus like anything other than a comrade. A friend. They joked with him, threw their arms around his shoulders, nudged him and laughed with him. Now more than ever, it seemed, as if they needed to make up for lost time. Time they wasted when they walked on eggshells around Rufus while he had geostigma.

But now he was back, and they immediately accepted him into the fold. And Rufus reciprocated, giving as good as he got.

While Tseng ate, he watched their interactions with a growing sense of dread. He wasn’t a very social person, so he did not mind being somewhat excluded from the more boisterous shows of affection. He did not doubt his bond with his fellow Turks.

But Rufus was sitting right next to him, and he had not looked at, spoken to or touched Tseng once since they started their meal.

It wasn’t like that in the kitchen, when they worked together so seamlessly. Or was that it? Could Rufus only stomach Tseng when there was a common goal? A task to complete?

He thought his first hypothesis wrong. He thought there was no evidence to support his theory that Rufus might despise Tseng. And now this.

Had he been wrong all this time?

He barely managed to finish his portion of the meal, nausea choking him at the throat. The others insisted on clearing the table, so all Tseng could do was to busy himself with getting dressed. Once he came back, he found Reno and Elena solemnly doing rock paper scissors.

“What are you doing?” Tseng asked.

“Trying to determine - yes! - who should accompany Mr. Rufus to the doctor,” Elena replied. The next time they revealed their hands, he groaned and she cheered. “Haha! I won!”

“I don’t know how but I’m sure you cheated somehow.”

Elena stuck out her tongue and ran off to prepare the car.

“I had not heard about a doctor’s appointment,” Tseng said, pinning Reno down with a look to keep him from slinking away.

“Yeah, uhh, something about a checkup. Or something.”

“Really?”

“Think so.”

Reno fidgeted on the spot, hands stuck in the pockets of his pants, while Tseng regarded him thoughtfully. It had been a while since he’d talked to Reno one on one. It wasn’t as if they needed it. Reno was a good operative, and Tseng knew by now how to handle him. But there was an irritating itch under Tseng’s skin. Letting it out would be a good workout for the both of them.

And there was something he wanted to ask Reno. Better to do that in relative privacy. With Elena and Rufus gone to town, Rude would be manning the desk so to speak. It gave Tseng the opportunity to take Reno for a little spin.

“Follow me,” he said to Reno, turning around to lead them to the basement training room.

“You gonna snuff me, Chief?”

“If you’re not careful, I guess.” He jerked his chin at Reno. “Hand to hand or firearms?”

“Uhh, hand to hand?”

“Very well. Do your warm up.”

Tseng settled into doing some stretches and forms, while Reno elected to run laps around the room for a bit. On silent accord, they both stopped and went to wrap their hands.

“So,” Reno said, uncharacteristically doubtful, “how serious are we gonna be here, Chief? Ya gonna let me beat you to a pulp or what?”

“You’re welcome to try. But no, let’s not go all out. I actually wanted to talk to you.”

“To me?” Reno swore and dodged Tseng’s first hit, a straightforward jab. “The hell you wanna talk to me for? I mean, I know I’m a blabbermouth but- …”

He interrupted his sentence to deliver a series of lightning-quick blows, which Tseng blocked, before sending Reno out of arm’s length with a solid kick to the sternum.

“This have anything to do with the Prez?” Reno asked after catching his breath.

“In a way.”

They exchanged a few more jabs and playful punches, testing the waters. Reno was not classically trained in any martial arts, though over the years he had learned to incorporate solid footwork and agility into his street-brawler style. Usually, he fought with his mag rod, utilizing his superior speed and reach to deal with any close quarter threat. Plus, he had been partners with Rude for over a decade by now, and Rude was their best hand to hand expert. His fists were his strongest weapons.

Though Tseng usually preferred pistols, he had mastered several martial arts, blending and switching styles whenever necessary. In fact, when he first became a Turk recruit, he had been known as Knives. Similar to Reno, he relied on speed instead of brute strength. An analytical mind that quickly found his opponent’s weakness and wasted no time to exploit them.

He knew Reno as well as Reno knew him, so the playing field was even there. As long as they didn’t go all out with their most powerful attacks and techniques, determining a winner would get down to a single moment of inattentiveness.

“Do you remember our conversation from a few weeks ago?” Tseng panted after another quick flurry of punches from Reno that he blocked and deflected.

“Which one?”

“You implied- …” He surged forward, intending to grapple Reno and get him into a restraining grip, but the other man was too quick and too slippery. “You implied that there was a romantic relationship between me and the President.”

“You still on about that? I was wrong. You said there was nothing.”

“I want to know what you saw that made you think that.”

Reno swore, flipping out of the way of Tseng’s next attack.

“I dunno,” he said, bringing some distance between them. “I’m not the only one who thought that, either. Why not ask Elena, or Rude?”

“You know why.”

Reno growled, going on the offense for a few moments, but Tseng was quick to dodge and block his fists. Only the last kick caught him in the thigh, having him stumble for a moment before he righted himself again.

“Yeah. Elena’d just blush and stutter. And Rude’s Rude.”

“Exactly. So, tell me.”

“Why’d you even wanna know?”

“Just tell me, Reno.”

With a heavy sigh, Reno dropped his fists. Tseng, willing to forego their spar in exchange for information, lowered his guard as well.

“Look,” Reno began, hands on his hips, “it was kind of obvious to everyone who even remotely knew you and the Prez. That’s why we were so damn surprised when you said there wasn’t anything going on.”

“Obvious how?”

“I dunno. It was a feeling.”

“Quantify it.”

Reno groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Fuck, I ain’t good with words, you know that, Chief. But it’s just a feeling like … like the way you guys look at each other. Even when there’s a room full of people, you’re always in this separate bubble.”

“Reno, it’s my job to watch the President’s back,” he pointed out. “Surely that can’t be the only thing.”

“No, I’m not explaining it right. Look. You’re both cagey as fuck. Hundreds of hours of conversations and meetings and whatnot that we’ve seen you disappear to, just you and the Prez. You’re a team. He’s your partner, and you’re his.”

Tseng had to hold back a scoff at that.

“Shall I insinuate that you and Rude are an item now? Because you work well together?” he drawled. “Come on, Reno.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it. But, fine. There’s more.”

“There better be. A case as flimsy as this would not convince anyone.”

That got Reno to bristle. His Turk honor was on the line now.

“Okay, how about this: me and Rude and Elena, we might trust the Prez to the ends of the world now, but it was you who convinced us in the beginning. Seeing you follow that snot-nosed kid without question, even after that whole Veld business? It’s like you knew something about the Prez that we didn’t. You were doing things out of conviction, instead of just doing your job. And because we trusted you, our Chief, we started seeing it too. We saw …” Reno paused, cursing under his breath. “Damn, I don’t know. Devotion. We saw fucking devotion, okay? And it went fucking both ways. That’s when we knew we could trust him. That’s when we knew we would lay down our lives for his cause.”

“Devotion can take many forms,” Tseng argued. “Granted, it is a good argument. But it is certainly not conclusive evidence.”

“Fine. I get it. But I’m gonna tell you what I saw when we got the message that you had most likely been killed at the Temple of the Ancients. Do you know what happened? Cuz that’s what convinced me.”

Tseng swallowed tightly. “What happened?”

“Well. Don’t tell him I saw this, because he’d probably do me in if he knew. But, um. You see, I was going to report to him about something or another, and I swear I knocked! I might not have waited for him to say ‘enter’ though … Anyway, I peeked in, just checking, you know? It was really late and he’d been snoozing at his desk a lot, so I thought maybe- ...”

“Reno, get to the point.”

“Alright, alright! So I took a gander, and that’s when I saw his expression.”

When Reno did not continue immediately, Tseng wanted to prompt him, opening his mouth. But then he saw the look in Reno’s eyes.

“Let’s just say,” Reno mumbled after a while, rubbing his arms, “I saw something that convinced me that there was more between you guys than just. Great teamwork. And, I guess he was the same after … After that fucker showed us your bloody ID tags.

“Look, this is all a bit touchy-feely for me. And I believe you when you say there’s nothing between you guys. But I’m not the only one who thought it was true. You know Elena used to have this humongous crush on you, right? Well, when she came to the same conclusion I did, it kind of cured her of that.”

Tseng hummed thoughtfully. He remembered when Elena first became a full-fledged Turk. He took her under his wing, just like Veld had once upon a time when Tseng had earned his spurs. It was the responsibility of the Chief Turk to instruct the rookies, offer them guidance. But as he went on missions with her and oversaw her duties, it seemed that despite their difference in age and experience, the close proximity and familiarity was enough to foster a case of puppy love.

It did not bother him, as long as it didn’t interfere with Elena’s work. If anything, it only made her more motivated to impress him. Over time, he thought, she simply grew out of it, turning her flights of fancy into the respect and loyalty her commander should elicit.

“Are you sure it wasn’t you who convinced Elena?”

But Reno shook his head. “Nah, man. She’s the one who came to me one day, asking whether it was an open secret nobody talked about.”

“So, she came to the same conclusion, separately.” Tseng rubbed his chin. “I might have to ask her after all.”

“Do what you want, Chief. But I’m confused. Why are you asking this now? You don’t have to worry, since you said there’s nothing, we believe you. And you don’t gotta be hard on yourself. It’s good that you’re this close with the Prez. Fuck protocol, or whatever. I mean, the poor guy doesn’t have any other friends.”

Was that what they were? Friends?

Tseng groaned and buried his face in his hands. Why was he so confused all of a sudden?

“Chief … Is this about the Prez asking us whether we want the Shinra name?”

“No. Yes. I suppose,” Tseng sighed.

“You know, Rude hasn’t officially decided yet either.” They looked at each other. “I can take over desk duty from Rude, if you want to talk to him.”

“That would be much appreciated.”

Reno grinned and winked, blowing an obnoxious kiss at Tseng. “Anything for you, Chief!”

“Seriously. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me. And this means you still owe me a good beatdown.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tseng chuckled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tseng in this chapter, basically: *plucking flower petals* he loves me, he hates me, he loves me, he hates me ...  
> Meanwhile Reno just wanna fite D:<


	4. Workaholic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus gets a lot of shit done. And he also overworks himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been kind of stuck on a scene in chapter 6 (which i thought was chapter 7 bc i'm a doofus who can't count) so I am now hesitant to post more until I get a bit more done ... hence the slightly longer delay between updates. This chapter is kind of exciting though, because Rufus really is super efficient. So many plot points!
> 
> Nothing bad, but just to be safe, warnings for this chapter: short mention of geostigma, indirect self-harm through forgetting to eat/sleep, mention of past insomnia

After he came back from his doctor’s appointment, Rufus went straight to his office, waving off Elena’s offers to accompany her and the others to dinner.

“Thank you, Elena, but I’m not hungry. Besides, I have some catching up to do.”

He felt a little bad for her, having had to chaperone him. He tried to keep up his good spirits and their light conversation throughout the day, but it was hard. His mind kept slipping, and until after the appointment, he could not shake off his nerves.

What if the stigma wasn’t gone? What if he was still dying?

His fears were unfounded, of course. And he felt bad for commandeering a doctor’s time for such a simple checkup. They had better things to do, really. But he would not have been able to rest, otherwise.

Now that this was out of the way, however, there were other worries threatening to creep up on him. Good thing that he actually did have work to do.

Hundreds of emails, voicemails, reports, dossiers, contracts, records, and other documents were piled literally or electronically on his desk. Though the Shinra Electric Power Company was not the same as it once had been, replaced in most parts by the WRO, they still had all the infrastructure left over to maintain. Knowledge of the reactors’ layouts, how to safely shut them down once they found other temporary energy sources, land ownerships, the stock market, stopping inflation, black market sellers of mako and materia.

There were a billion problems, and Rufus knew he couldn’t - but he still wanted to deal with it all personally.

He trusted Reeve Tuesti. He knew the WRO was doing as good of a job as they could. But it was a new organization, trying to step in where there once was a monopoly. Trying to both heal from a global catastrophe and trying to rejig the entire economy. It was a Bahamut task.

Geostigma had set them back, not just because of the loss of life, but also because of the resources poured into it. But even without that, the entire project was built on sand.

Rufus could envision a better future all he wanted. It didn’t make it real.

He was drowning in the day-to-day business required to build Edge on the ruins of Midgar. Re-negotiating trade agreements, travel restrictions, licences, quotas for people, resources, streams of energy, money, weapons, information, knowledge and power.

Too many strings, too few hands.

It didn’t help that they kept Rufus’ survival mostly a secret until now. They did not want to have the WRO associated with the Shinra name so shortly after their failures leading up to Meteorfall. And then it wasn’t certain whether Rufus would even live to see the next year, so they saw no reason to announce anything then either.

But now he wondered. Would it be better if he vanished into obscurity? What consequences might it have, if he stepped back onto the playing field? Would it help or would it only complicate matters further?

That’s when a flyer caught his eye. He frowned at its drab colors and uninspired font, feeling offended.

He picked up his PHS and called one of the few numbers saved on there.

“What the hell did I just look at, Reeve,” he said, before the man on the other end could eke in a greeting.

“Um, I don’t know?” Reeve Tuesti mumbled, perplexed. “What were you looking at? Not the numbers for that oil field up north, I hope, because I thought those were rather good.”

“No, not those. Those are actually good. We can’t rely on oil for long, but- … That’s not why I called. This,” he flapped the flyer in his hand, knowing very well that Tuesti could not see him, “atrocious invitation to a  _ donation drive _ . Reeve.  _ Reeve _ , what were you thinking?”

“Oh, that. Well, I was thinking that public support has been rather good. Recruitment numbers are up, the recent polls have been quite positive, but this kind of thing doesn’t finance itself, as you well know. Maybe we can use some of that goodwill.”

“A donation drive, though? Really?” Rufus drawled, not bothering to hide his contempt.

“What, would you rather have me tax the citizens? Our numbers would plunge faster than you can say gil!”

“No, Reeve. My good man. You don’t want money from the poor people.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “You want the rich people. You have to schmooze them. Make them outbid each other. Entice them with something. They’re going to throw so much gil at you that you won’t know what to do with it. And those rich people? They’re the owners of those oil fields. They own the coal mines. They have the arable land, the water cisterns, the iron ore.”

“Oh? Oh.”

Rufus sighed. “Stop that donation drive project. Convert it into something else. A gala, or something else that sounds classy and rich. Have them buy tickets to attend, and let them publicly show their support for the WRO … by donating their money.”

“That … sounds an awful lot like one of your father’s old parties.”

“Don’t remind me,” Rufus groaned. “But it’s going to work. It’s awful, but it works. We’ve seen it dozens of times, haven’t we? Gaia, you and I probably know over half the people that are going to show up.”

“True. You’re right.”

“Of course I am right. You’ll think about it?”

“I will … if you agree to host this thing,” Reeve shot back.

He should have seen it coming. And wasn’t that, secretly what he hoped for? The opportunity to get back into the spotlight.

“If the WRO associates itself with the Shinra name, you can kiss your good numbers goodbye, and you know it.”

“It wouldn’t be a WRO event, now would it? You host it, you tell everyone how neat you think the WRO is, you filch the money from those rich assholes- …”

“I am one of those rich assholes,” Rufus grumbled, but Reeve continued on as if he hadn’t heard him.

“... and then in a big, public gesture, you give it all to us. We get the money, you might even salvage some of your reputation, and those rich assholes get to ease their conscience or something like that. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“Fine. Fuck you, but I’ll do it.”

“That didn’t take much convincing.”

“It was my idea in the first place, wasn’t it? Leave it all to me. It will be one thing at least that I can be useful for.”

There was a pause at the other end, after which Reeve said quietly: “Rufus. You have done so much already. The public might not know, but the people who count can all see that you are a hero.”

“Oh, no need to butter me up, Reeve. Let me play the part of the rich socialite. I’ll make sure to look appropriately pallid and contrite for the cameras.”

“Rufus- …” He was interrupted by insistent beeping. “Ah. Apologies. I have another call.”

“Naturally. Thank you for your time, Commissioner.”

“Thank you, Rufus. And good night.”

The call ended, and Rufus looked outside the window, startled to see that it was already pitch black outside. Ah, no matter. He had a new project to plan. That’s what he was good at. Thinking. He’d leave the doing to others, like always.

He started drafting up a concept for this donation event, taking his experience with his father’s parties into account. Of course, he had his own ideas, but knowing what worked and what didn’t certainly helped.

By the time a knock came at his door, Rufus had already drawn up a rough list of open issues that he needed to consider and plan out, ranging from the possible locations and their respective security concerns, to ideas for a theme, a motto, a color palette, and other more general matters.

“Enter,” he called out, looking up from his terminal.

To his surprise, it was Tseng who hesitantly stepped into the office. Well, he wasn’t so much surprised at the fact that it would be Tseng who might check in on him, though their last conversation hadn’t exactly gone well. What he was more surprised about was that he seemed to be in his pajamas, hair down, a cup of coffee in hand.

“Sir, what are you doing?” he asked, seeming genuinely bewildered.

“Working? You don’t need to wait up, I’ll just finish this, and then I’ll go to bed.” Rufus plastered a smile on his face that he hoped would reassure Tseng into leaving him alone. But the frown on the Turk’s face only deepened.

“Rufus,” he said, “I’m not going to bed. I just woke up.”

“Ah.” He stared at his desk. “That would explain why I’ve been kind of seeing double for the last while.”

He should not have said that, because it made Tseng step even further into the room, silent as a ghost on his bare feet. He put down his cup on the edge of Rufus’ desk, walking around it to put a gentle hand on Rufus’ arm.

It was too much.

Rufus jumped to his feet, saying: “See, I’m fine, I’ll- …”

The next thing he knew, his head was throbbing and he was lying on his back.

“Leviathan, Rufus! Can you hear me?”

“Ow,” he groaned, blinking slowly in an attempt to clear his blurry vision. “What happened?”

“You passed out. You fell and I- … I couldn’t catch you. I think you hit your head,” Tseng muttered rapidly. He was leaning over Rufus, shining some sort of light into his eyes which he flinched from.

“I’d be alright if you didn’t blind me with that.”

“No concussion, it seems.”

“Of course not, I’m just- …”

“Just severely dehydrated and sleep deprived? Yes, I agree.” A disapproving click of his tongue. “Didn’t you just come from the doctor’s? I hope they didn’t prescribe you a dose of ‘overworking yourself’.”

Rufus grumbled in response, sitting up shakily. “No. I only had them check me for geostigma. It really did get cured, by the way.”

“That’s … good to hear. But please wait here, I shall get you some water. And maybe something light to eat.”

“No, I’m fine, I- …”

“Rufus, please.” The tone of Tseng’s voice stopped his further protests. “You barely slept last night, too. You must be exhausted.”

“Okay,” he finally relented.

Tseng helped him to lean against the wall and then left him with a last, lingering touch to his knee. It could have been a mere moment or hours later that he came back. Rufus’ head swam, and he struggled to accept the glass of water and some cookies.

“If this is your insomnia again …”

“It’s not,” Rufus interrupted him. “I swear, I just forgot the time.”

“You need to learn to listen to your body. If you’re hungry, eat. If you’re thirsty, drink. If you’re tired, sleep.”

“I know. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

Tseng silently took the glass from his shaking hands and then sat there with him on the ground. His expression was shuttered, and Rufus was too out of it to even try to decipher it.

“Come, let’s get you to bed.”

However, when Tseng tried to put his arms around Rufus’ middle in order to help him up, he was lucid enough to push him away.

“Thanks, I can do that myself. It’s just down the hall.”

He was aware of Tseng following his every step, like a looming shadow. He tried not to let it bother him as he lurched his way to his bed, clumsily changing his clothes without help. Once he was horizontal, he finally felt the crushing weight of exhaustion dragging him down.

Just before he fell asleep, he heard Tseng whisper: “I’ll get you some more water.”

The next thing he knew, it was light outside. Rufus blinked his eyes open, not feeling very well rested at all. He gulped down two glasses of water before heading into the bathroom. After a long, hot shower, he finally started feeling human enough to eat the shiny, green apple on his bedside table.

The rest of the house was silent as he wandered about. The kitchen was spick and span, and the training rooms were empty. He could not get into his office. There was no sign of anything, until he found Rude sitting at what was generally considered the Turks’ desk.

“Boss,” the stoic man greeted him.

“Where are the others?”

“Some sensitive material was discovered at some testing site. Chief and the others went to secure it. They will be back by tomorrow.” Rude looked at his phone. “I should inform the Chief that you are awake.”

“Go ahead,” Rufus sighed, crunching down on the core of his apple, eating it all until only the stem was left.

“Mm. Yes. Yes, I have informed him. Alright. Mm-hm. I will.” Rude hung up and then looked at Rufus expectantly.

“I can’t seem to find my PHS, and the door to my office is locked.”

“Ah. Chief’s orders.”

Rufus crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. Out of all the Turks, Rufus had the least rapport with Rude. Elena was like a younger sister to him. Reno was a fun time all day every day - together they had come up with some pretty epic pranks, back in the day. And, well. Tseng was Tseng.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t know Rude. They just never hung out or talked much. Which was par for the course, since Rude only spoke when necessary, or when Reno was being too annoying.

“You haven’t yet given your answer, regarding my proposal,” Rufus broke the silence. Then, he laughed. “Wow, why did that just sound like I asked you to marry me? You know what I mean.”

“I do, sir. But- …”

“But what?”

Rude hummed thoughtfully, sitting relaxed in his office chair. The entire room exuded such a Turk energy and aesthetic, and it suited Rude so much to sit there, wearing his darkened glasses even indoors, that for a moment, Rufus thought himself transported back in time. The Shinra building in Midgar had never felt like home. Yet he never missed it quite as much as he did right then, right there, with the vision of the Department of General Affairs before him.

“I’m not the only one whose response is pending,” Rude eventually said.

“I know. Tseng is still deciding as well. Does that mean your response depends on his decision?”

“No. I spoke with him about this. He’s already decided.”

“Ah.” Rufus nodded to himself. “I see. He’s going to refuse, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so, boss.”

Rufus tried not to let his disappointment show. But then again, he was in the presence of a Turk. He could probably read Rufus like a textbook anyway, behind those unfathomable glasses of his.

“I figured as much. What about you then?”

“That depends.”

Surprised, Rufus pushed off the doorway and stood straight. “Oh? Depends on what? If not Tseng’s decision, then …?”

Rude did not reply immediately, staring at him stoically.

“Tseng did not decide lightly,” he offered.

“It doesn’t matter how long he hemmed and hawed, it was a foregone conclusion. But I’m still wondering why you haven’t decided yet, and I can’t really tell what you’re thinking either. So. What is it you need to know, in order to be able to choose?”

“Your reasoning.”

“My reasoning?” Rufus balked. “There is no reasoning. It’s a gesture of gratitude. Goodwill. Gratefulness. Call it what you will. I mean, I guess I could pay you a higher salary or give you all a ‘congratulations on surviving the apocalypse’ bonus instead, but I thought that’s rather shallow.”

“I thought you  _ were  _ shallow,” Rude shot back dryly.

“Ah! You wound me!”

“As if.”

They looked at each other for a beat, and then Rufus sighed deeply.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. Damn Turks and their interrogation tactics.”

Rude snorted, but said nothing else.

“I must admit I don’t know you well enough to know whether this will convince you or not. But, the truth is, everything that happened? It scared me more than I’m willing to admit even to myself. For so long my entire goal was just so small, you know? Taking over the company from my father, doing better than he did. It’s not like that’s hard, right?” He sighed. “But then Meteor, and Diamond Weapon, and the stigma happened. And I realized … If I die? What is it that I’ll have left behind?”

He looked at Rude’s expression, seeing nothing reflected back at him. He was just listening. There was no judgement, no pity, no doubt. It was enough to let him continue.

“Everyone expects these world-changing schemes from me. And I guess I’ll never be able to escape having the weight and power to influence global politics. But when I really think about the future, I see that my legacy so far has only been death and destruction, brought on by hubris. And I wanted to change that, even if just with you. I wanted to change what the Shinra name means, even if just for the few of us. Instead of corruption and greed and unethical experimentations it should be … friendship, and family, and trust and loyalty. I wanted … I wanted to have left something good behind when I’m gone.”

When Rude still said nothing, Rufus continued: “I’ll try to do that anyways, with other projects and ideas that I have. So, just because you and Tseng reject my offer, doesn’t mean I won’t be able to reach that goal. If anything, it would make me work even harder. But it would just be a nice thing, I think.”

“I’ll take it.”

“What?” Rufus blurted before he could stop himself. Then: “Really? Why?”

“Your reasoning.”

And then he left Rufus standing there, gaping a little, while Rude calmly went back to work pouring over his reports. After a few minutes, Rufus caught himself, and he smiled.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“That would be splendid, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw yall can find me on twitter @Achromos if you want ... I don't post a lot of FF7 stuff as i'm multifandom, but i post (and have already posted) wipwednesday sneak peeks of this and some other stuff i'm working on, so :x


	5. The Question and An Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tseng finally gives Rufus an answer, but it might not be what he wants to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly longer delay, work is kicking my ass. We're finally getting somewhere though!

When Tseng returned, he felt exhausted in a good way. It had been a very long time since he felt like this. These past few months and years, it was more common for him to either be bored, fearing that he might get rusty, or then to be living so close to the edge of death that he ran on nothing but sheer terror.

In between dying of boredom and dying of, well, getting stabbed or shot, there was the comfortable thrill and fatigue of a job well done. That feeling used to be a Turk’s bread and butter. Most, if not all of them, were at least a little bit of an adrenaline junkie. Some liked pain a little too much. A few were too fascinated with sharp things, or things that went boom.

You needed to be a little crazy to be a Turk.

This mission they went on looked like a routine infiltration, data retrieval and extraction job. Almost too easy, judging by the information they had been sent via Veld’s network. That’s why Tseng knew to be doubly cautious.

It did not sit well with him that, as the keepers of Shinra’s dirtiest secrets, even they were continually surprised by the skeletons in their own closets.

Tseng did not yet have time to inspect the data more closely, but from what they had seen of the underground facility and judging by the high-level resistance they encountered, this was unlikely to just be financial reports. Probably another science project. Possibly world-ending.

Just another Turk Tuesday, really.

Reno and Elena were conked out in the back as Tseng carefully set down the helicopter on the pad just behind Healen Lodge. As he absentmindedly powered down the engines and went through the post-landing checks, he heard Reno talking.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s us. Anything crazy happen while we were gone? Ha, I bet. Man, just you wait until you hear about this, I nearly got my ass fried by these crazy robot things! Yeah, it was fucking wild, man. Mhm. Pretty much. Nah, we’re all fine.”

Elena eventually joined Reno in animatedly chattering into the PHS and Rude on the other end, even though Tseng could see him standing at the edge of the landing pad. Next to him stood Rufus, huddled into an oversized wool coat even though the sun was only just setting.

As soon as Tseng got out of the pilot seat, Reno and Elena took it as permission to leave as well. They were out of the chopper like twin shots. Tseng followed at a more sedate pace, holding the hard protective case that held the retrieved data. He watched Rude stoically letting Reno and Elena climb all over him like monkeys, before they turned to Rufus. Reno clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make his knees buckle, and then Elena gave him a quick hug, which seemed to unbalance him almost more.

The two thankfully grabbed Rude and pulled him into the house, leaving Tseng to greet Rufus alone.

“Success?” Rufus asked, nodding at the suitcase.

“Indeed. Debrief in ten?” Tseng was rather looking forward to relaying the mission report to Rufus - if only because it would give them another opportunity to speak in private.

But Rufus shook his head, tucking his chin behind his coat’s collar.

“It’s late. This can wait until tomorrow.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Rufus Shinra?” he joked weakly.

“Says the man who forced me to stop working by stealing my PHS and locking me out of my office.”

“You forced me to take drastic measures,” Tseng retorted, unremorseful. He then reached into his pocket and withdrew Rufus’ PHS, returning it to him.

It had only been about 48 hours, but Rude had kept Tseng informed and so he knew that Rufus had actually taken the time to rest and recover. Nothing got past Rude, though there hadn’t even been any attempts at shenanigans. In any case, they all knew Rufus’ tricks all too well from his stint as their ‘prisoner’.

“Thank you,” Rufus said, extra sweetly, taking the PHS and tucking it into his suit.

Tseng shifted the hard case from one hand to the other and followed Rufus into the house. Somewhere, probably the kitchen, he could hear Reno and Elena arguing about something. Rufus did not go to them, instead taking off his coat and settling into a spot on the couch in the sitting room. He picked up a book and began reading. Probably what he’d been doing before he heard the chopper.

First, Tseng deposited the suitcase in the Turks’ office for later review. Next, he went to unlock Rufus’ office - as a treat, for good behavior, he thought with a chuckle. Then, he joined the other Turks in the kitchen, reminding them to eat something before getting some well-deserved rest.

He made a smoothie for himself, something nutritious that didn’t take too long to make or consume. Taking the tall glass full of rather disgusting looking, thick, green liquid with him, he returned to the sitting room, taking a seat on the same couch where Rufus was now bundled up beneath a checkered blanket.

“What are you reading?” he asked, chewing on some bits the blender hadn’t quite turned to mush. Probably through no fault of the machine itself. Rather, it was likely a little chunky because Tseng had been too impatient.

Rufus looked up from his book and turned it around to show him the cover. “Don’t judge me. We didn’t have anything else.”

Tseng raised an eyebrow.

“Why do we have your father’s third autobiography?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m certainly not the one who bought this.”

“Is it entertaining at least?”

“Mm. It’s kind of fun to guess whether this book is outright lying for propaganda purposes, or whether there really is some stuff I didn’t know about the old man. Take this, for example,” Rufus said, and then began to read a passage: “ _ Even as a young entrepreneur, President Shinra always had an eye for quality. At the chocobo races, for example, he always bet on the winning bird. The only notable exception was at a race in Old Corel, where President Shinra may have lost a notable sum of gil, though he won the attention of none other than Roxane Thurlow, whom he would marry a year later _ .”

Tseng hummed, taking another sip of his smoothie.

“He did meet your mother at a chocobo race, didn’t he?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Rufus muttered. He frowned at the book in his lap. “It could all be dragon crap though. Sometimes I wonder whether she even really existed. Wouldn’t that be something? Maybe I’m a test tube baby, like Sephiroth.”

“Don’t say that,” Tseng said, shuddering.

“Honestly, though. Was she real? Do the Turks maybe know something?”

Ah. So that’s what this was about. Rufus wanted to know more about his mother, which was understandable. It was more surprising that he’d never asked before, Tseng thought.

“Roxane Shinra, née Thurlow. Daughter of a wealthy plantation owner. Made a name for herself as a model and actress. Met and married President Shinra. After two years of marriage, she died after giving birth to her only child,” he rattled off the widely known information on Mrs. Shinra.

“Which is me. Does that mean you don’t know anything else?”

“Rufus.”

They looked at each other for a moment, caught in a silent standoff.

“There is something, isn’t there. What is it? Did my old man kill her?”

Tseng pursed his lips. “No.”

"Then, what is it? What skeletons are hiding in that closet?"

The irony. Hadn't Tseng just thought the same thing, with regards to the research base they found? Shinra was a well of uncomfortable truths hidden just below the surface. And they kept unearthing more and more as time went on.

"I never knew her, obviously. But she was real. And I know that the General Affairs Division had some files on her, but I never looked at them. If you want, I can dig them up for you. They might have been salvaged, when we evacuated our hideout.”

But Rufus shook his head, putting away his father’s autobiography to snuggle deeper into his checkered blanket with a shiver.

“No. Thank you, but you have better things to do with your time than this, I’m sure.”

“Maybe.” Tseng swirled the smoothie around in his glass. He did have better things to do, he supposed. But if Rufus asked, he’d go rummage in those dusty old paper files they kept in the basement. He might find letters. Photographs of Roxane Shinra, happy, perhaps pregnant with Rufus. Would it give him peace? Or would it just drive home the pain of never having known his mother?

“Are you cold? Do you want me to turn up the heating?” he asked instead, seeing Rufus sink even further into his cocoon.

“It’s fine. After all, I’m the cold-blooded ice prince with the frozen heart, right?”

“You know you’re speaking to a Turk, right?” Tseng drawled.

“I’m in good company then.”

Tseng set down his only half-finished smoothie, suddenly feeling frustrated. Sometimes, talking to Rufus was like pulling teeth. The torturous kind.

“I’m sorry for locking you out of your office and taking your PHS away, but it was for your own good,” he said, hoping Rufus was just upset about that and they could move on to more important topics.

“I know,” Rufus responded. Of course, he was never easy.

“What is bothering you, then?”

"Nothing."

"You're upset," Tseng observed. "What do you need me to apologize for? I'm sorry we left on that mission without telling you beforehand."

"I was asleep. I don't expect you to keep me apprised of your division's affairs at all times, Tseng. Rude was perfectly capable of bringing me up to speed."

"Then, what is it?"

"Nothing. Tseng, I'm not upset. I'm just cold."

Determined to prove his point now and to burst through this strange bubble of separation Rufus built around himself, Tseng bridged the distance between them and threw an arm around Rufus' shoulders. Or he would have, if Rufus had not jumped away and to his feet at the last moment.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"You said you were cold."

Rufus only glared at him balefully in response.

"Rufus."

"Tseng."

He squashed the urge to roll his eyes. Pulling teeth. Torture. This should be easy, but it wasn't. Because it was Rufus.

Instead he got to his feet, challengingly staring into Rufus' eyes no matter how uncomfortable it was. Never before had he hated the fact that Rufus was an inch taller more than he did now.

"Just tell me why you are so upset. Why are you keeping me at arm’s length?"  _ Literally _ , Tseng thought.

"You first."

"What are you talking about?"

"My offer," Rufus finally said. "Put us both out of our misery and say it."

Tseng stood frozen while his mind raced.

"Ask me again," he whispered, too breathless for anything else.

Rufus looked at him, and the expression on his face was one that Tseng did not recognize.

"Do you want to be a Shinra?"

That's when Tseng realized. It wasn't about the name. It wasn't a mark of loyalty or ownership or power, it wasn't a pretty, diamond-encrusted leash for Rufus' guard hounds. It wasn’t payment.

He thought about Rufus reading his father's autobiography. He thought about Rufus asking about his mother. Family, legacy, he said, when asked what he was thinking about. Tseng thought about Reno observing how lonely Rufus was, and how he said that he was glad that Tseng was his friend.

Oh, he thought, suddenly feeling warm.

"Yes," he said, impulsively.

Rufus' face fell.

"What? You're supposed to say no!"

"What?" Tseng echoed.

"You- … I asked Rude. He told me …"

"Rude doesn't know my mind."

"But I do!" Rufus shouted. "I know you, and you'd never cross the lines. You were supposed to say no!"

Cold dread now settled into Tseng's bones.

Ah. He had been wrong. Of course, Rufus would never want Tseng to be his family. He wasn't as fun to talk to or hang out with like Elena or Reno. He wasn't as cool and collected as Rude, who was ever a reliable rock to lean on. Someone who didn't challenge and annoy Rufus all the time.

No, he said it, didn't he? Tseng was  _ difficult _ .

"I'm sorry," he choked out, feeling hollow. "I'll say whatever you want."

“Tseng …”

He startled when Rufus’ hands came up to cup his cheeks, realizing distantly that there were tears staining them. Judging by Rufus’ expression, they must be burning his palms.

“I think we need to talk.”

When Rufus was twelve years old, he swore off love forever. He had just been educated on the matters of human reproduction, and hearing his teacher say that this was what happened when two people loved each other very much, he was so alarmed and disgusted, that he vowed to never love anyone, ever. That was never going to happen to him.

His father, once he heard of this, was extremely displeased, of course. In fact, that was when he stopped proudly chuffing and saying that Rufus was ‘a chip off the old block’.

Rufus was twelve years old when he realized that there was something wrong with him.

He was fourteen years old when a Turk gave him a guard hound, and Rufus realized that love was a tool at his disposal. He was wary of Dark Nation at first. She was almost as tall as he was, before his second growth spurt, and she looked ugly and menacing. Oh sure, she was obedient, but in the way that the Turks were obedient. They followed your orders, but once your back was turned, they watched you, just waiting for you to show weakness.

To be fair, his initial assessment of Dark Nation may have been overshadowed by his disappointment. When he asked his father for a dog, he did not mean a mutated abomination from Hojo’s labs.

But then he started to notice certain things. Like how Dark Nation scratched her itches the same way a normal dog would. How her tentacle whip sometimes wagged when she was pleased. That she was perplexed the first time he pet her head, but then she would come to beg for ear rubs whenever she wasn’t on duty.

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the look in her eyes transformed. From distant obedience to something more. Something warm and adoring.

“Alright, I’ll love you,” he whispered into Dark Nation’s ear one night, as he lay curled up in bed with her heavy, bulky form as a barrier between him and the ceiling-high windows. “Just you, though. No one else.”

But Rufus was a fool, of course. A smart fool, who thought himself infallible, when in fact he was still just a child.

He was eighteen when he met Tseng the Turk again. He’d been around, of course, and Rufus may have even talked to him a couple of times before. But they properly met when the Turks realized that it had been Rufus all along who financed Avalanche, and who provided them with inside information.

Tseng shot Veld and Elfé in a desperate bid to prove his loyalty to Shinra, to protect the Turks now in his care, and Rufus vouched for him in front of his father. Defend them, he thought, buy their love. Buy their loyalty.

That moment, when their eyes met while Rufus’ father decided their fate, Tseng looked at Rufus like he truly saw him for the first time. Like there was something he was seeing that he hadn’t been aware of before. Rufus blushed, then, thinking the warmth in his chest was the triumph of having surprised a Turk. Pleasure, at having fooled a person whose job it was to see through deception.

It was not that, he later realized. It was a connection. Rufus felt seen by another human being, for the first time in his entire life. And it was like an imprint upon him, like Tseng had signed his name inside Rufus’ heart.

Even while Rufus was confined within the Turks’ secret headquarters, surrounded by what were for all intents and purposes his enemies, that connection was there. Out of all the Turks, Tseng was the only one who treated Rufus like a worthy opponent or a potential ally from the get go. He’d seen Rufus playing treasonous chess and he was impressed. It was intriguing, he supposed, to a master of the trade.

At first Tseng circled warily around Rufus, metaphorically sniffing him out. Rufus let him. Just like Dark Nation, he thought, except this one can talk and lie and shoot things.

He was wrong.

While Tseng watched Rufus, he watched the Turk in return. He rationalized his interest by telling himself that knowing their leader and gaining his trust would eventually buy him the trust of all the Turks. The more time he spent in their headquarters, the more Rufus came to see the potential of these men and women. Potential that was being squandered under his father’s rule.

He told himself he wasn’t going to make the same mistake. They were going to be his Turks, and his Turks would be used properly.

And then Tseng started talking to him.

Tseng started telling him about Turk business. The dirty work they did behind the scenes. The realities of their job. Blackmail, extortion, espionage, sometimes assassination. Monitoring their own employees, trying to sniff out traitors, dissidents, Wutai supporters. Information on Planetology, the Promised Land, the Ancients. Criteria for SOLDIER candidates and how the Turks were instructed in recruiting them with lies and half-truths. Propaganda as the carrot, compulsion as the stick.

And he asked for Rufus’ opinion. At first he believed he was acting on orders. Trying to extract further information on Avalanche, perhaps. But the kinds of questions he asked were too different.

Do you think we should pressure this man by threatening his wealth or his family? What do you think should be changed to improve Shinra’s image in Wutai? Do you believe in the Lifestream? How can we increase morale among SOLDIER recruits? Is this woman’s choice of reading material a sign of malcontentment?

Rufus was wary at first. Was this some kind of advanced interrogation tactic? He answered Tseng nonetheless, if only for the stimulating conversations these discussions provided. Tseng had a sharp mind, one that Rufus could whet his own wits with. He provided a different perspective on things, broadening Rufus’ horizon.

And then, one day, Tseng asked: “What were your plans?”

“Pardon?”

“Your plans. What is it you planned to do, had you succeeded in assassinating your father with Avalanche’s help?” Tseng said calmly, as if he were not talking about the hypothetical murder of his employer with the would-be-usurper himself.

That’s when Rufus realized he needed Tseng by his side.

In his conversations with Tseng he built a construct. A dream of the future. Without Tseng there to see it through with him, that dream would have no meaning, because somewhere along the way, unbidden, Tseng had become Rufus’ happiness.

He loved the way Tseng silently, perfectly fit into Rufus’ space. He loved to see the tension ease in Tseng’s shoulders when he let down his hair. He loved to watch him methodically, meticulously pull something apart, whether it was a problem or his gun or his materia bracers. He loved to hear his voice, whether he was calmly reporting on something, reprimanding Rufus for his recklessness, or just asking whether he wanted something to eat.

Out of all the things in the world, these moments became the most precious things. All the gil in his name could not buy him this. The feeling he got when he could sit down next to Tseng, close enough to touch.

You couldn’t swear off love. But love could swear off you.

Because Rufus knew Tseng, he loved Tseng, and he knew that Tseng would never love him back. Not for as long as they were who they were. In Tseng’s mind they were superior and subordinate. The king and queen pieces on the chessboard. The President and his loyal Turk. That and nothing more.

It was enough. It had to be enough. It was enough for so long, until Rufus had to make the mistake of asking Tseng to be his family. And poor Tseng did what he thought he had to, in order to make Rufus happy. He still did not know that Rufus wished to hear the truth, not some gilded lie. It was why Tseng used to pretend that everything was alright, like Rufus wasn’t dying of an incurable disease. It was why he could not face the possibility of losing Rufus to something as mundane as death.

He had to tell him. It was alright. It was enough. He didn’t need to sacrifice this, on top of everything else Tseng had already given up for him. It was Rufus’ fault for asking.


	6. Three Little Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus confesses his feelings. It goes as he expected. And he deals with it also as expected, which is to say, not well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not quite yet the chapter we were all waiting for, so buckle up folks and ready your tissues.

They relocated to Rufus’ office, no longer comfortable with potentially being overheard by the other Turks. It signalled to Tseng that they were finally going to talk about the issue they had been tiptoeing around for days now, and he was simultaneously relieved and anxious about it.

Tseng reflexively sat on the visitor’s chair, which he then realized would put them in an awkward position with the desk between them. Rufus silently grabbed his office chair, however, and dragged it so he could sit on the same side as Tseng.

They looked at each other for a moment. Tseng had a sudden, dizzying feeling when he saw Rufus’ expression, the forcefully relaxed line of his body leaning against the back of his chair and the blank coldness of his eyes.

Rufus was nervous, he decided.

Tseng cleared his throat, and said: “You said we needed to talk.”

“Yes.” He laced his fingers together in his lap.

Well. This was awkward.

“Why did you say yes?” Rufus asked after a long pause.

He pondered this for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he said, truthfully.

“You spoke to Rude. You told him that you had decided to turn down the Shinra name. What made you change your mind?”

“I don’t know.”

Rufus pursed his lips and looked away, falling into silence. It was no invitation, but Tseng took it nonetheless.

“Why did you say … that I was supposed to say no?” he asked.

“I know you, Tseng. You would not be happy with the lines crossed like that. Even if you can’t see it yourself just yet, I am sure of it.”

Tseng balked.

“Then why offer it in the first place?”

“I couldn’t just leave you out like that, now could I? I expected you to simply decline, to politely bow out and leave things how they always were. Neatly separated and clearly labelled. But you had to make things complicated.”

“I made things complicated?” Tseng scoffed.

“You changed your mind.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision.”

“Based on?”

“I thought- … Never mind.” He stopped himself in time. Tseng couldn’t tell him that, could he? Because he’d been wrong.

When Rufus asked him whether he wanted to be a Shinra, he was fooled into believing. A glimpse of what he thought was a genuine, vulnerable moment was all it took for Tseng’s resolve to crumble.

Because Rufus was right. Tseng of the Turks would never cross that line. It was unthinkable to mix private issues such as family and feelings with business. But just for a second he’d forgotten. For just a heartbeat, Tseng had lost sight of who he was, and who Rufus was. What they were to each other.

They could never be more than the visionary and his right hand man. Reno was wrong. They weren’t even friends.

Rufus may have asked the other Turks to become family, but never Tseng. He was different. In perpetual limbo between being allowed into the inner sanctum of Rufus’ privacy and having to maintain a professional distance, because that was where they worked best together. Rufus felt obligated to include him. Yet he not only expected, but actively _wanted_ Tseng to decline. Because it would only complicate matters. Because it would be too difficult. Because it would hinder their work.

It made Tseng furious.

“Do you think I am incapable of change?” he said into the stifling silence between them. “Everything has changed already. Maybe you are right, and up until this point I would not have hesitated to decide as you predicted. But things aren’t how they used to be. I’m not who I used to be. Things … People change.”

 _And I am a person too, don’t you see_ , Tseng thought, fervently. And then he froze.

Was he being unfair? He expected so much from Rufus, all the time. He expected him to just know Tseng’s turmoil, his doubts and vulnerabilities. He saw him as someone beyond mortality most of the time, only betraying his humanity in glimpses.

Just like now.

Rufus was nervous. He was uncertain. He made a mistake.

They were both just people.

“Do I really not know you anymore? Did I ever understand you, or was it just an illusion?” Rufus murmured quietly, still refusing to meet Tseng’s eyes. There was a tenseness to his jaw now, like he was holding something back. Some emotion he was suppressing. And Tseng’s heart ached a little, seeing him drift further and further away.

“Rufus,” he sighed. “Look at me.”

He complied, showing nothing but a rigidly blank face.

“Why did you want me to say no?”

He broke eye contact again, scoffing to himself. He unfolded his hands, crossing his arms instead in what Tseng easily recognized as a defensive gesture. If this were an interrogation, he’d be certain to have cracked him. Whatever he was going to say next might not be the entire truth, but it would be no lie.

“I suppose,” he said, “you had to find out eventually. I’m surprised it took this long.”

Tseng said nothing, waiting patiently.

"Do you remember how my father used to say that if he wanted something he'd simply take it? This … is the opposite of that. You can’t just take things. Some things aren’t meant to be taken. Because do you know what hurts more than not having what you want? It is the illusion of having it, when in fact you do not."

"I don't think I understand."

"I know. You never saw … You had no way of knowing."

"Knowing what?" Tseng probed, his impatience getting the better of him.

"That I am in love with you."

What?

He blinked, uncomprehending. Rufus was … in love with him?

The words echoed in his mind endlessly, drowning out all other thoughts.

In love. He was in love. He was in love with … with Tseng.

He felt like laughing, irrationally. He felt like crying. He did neither.

By the time he realized that not only had Rufus continued to speak, but he had also gotten up to stand by the window with his back turned to him, Tseng did not know how much time had passed. He must have missed quite a bit, because Rufus' words kept making very little sense. Or perhaps Tseng was just too out of it to understand.

"It's because you saw me, acknowledged me. And what does that say about me? I am pitiful, aren't I. So desperate. But I could not shake it, even as the years went on, though I admittedly didn't try very hard.

"I know you must be terribly disappointed in me right now. You must be realizing now that I have never been objective. I was always biased.

"And now that you know? You won't be able to jump into the line of fire anymore. I have compromised you, too. I have ruined you."

Tseng's mind raced, struggling to keep up. There was a careful polish to Rufus' voice that he had heard many times before. This was what he sounded like when he told him to comply with the President's orders to drop the Sector 7 plate. When he sent Tseng to the Temple of the Ancients.

He had never made the easy choice. Not for others, and certainly not for himself.

Drawn as if by invisible strings, Tseng got to his feet and crossed the office to stand behind Rufus.

He remembered Reno telling him that he saw Rufus, after they got news of Tseng's supposed death. Reno had seen it then. This man loved him, and he still sent him on that hopeless, terrible mission.

His heart broke, cloven right in two.

"Rufus," he breathed, embracing him tightly from behind and pressing his cheek to his back. "I'm sorry. How could I not have seen?"

"Easy. You would have noticed, had there been any change in my behavior. But there wasn't. Because I have loved you, always. From the very beginning."

They stood there, before the window, Tseng holding on to Rufus - desperately clinging to him - as if he might disappear if he let go. He felt the thud of Rufus’ heart against his palm, too fast, belying his nerves hidden beneath the calm tones of his voice. He could feel the tremble in his bones, torn between sinking into Tseng’s warmth and shying away from him the way two opposing magnets repelled each other.

When Rufus finally lifted his hand and put it on Tseng’s, not to hold him in return, but to peel his grip away like one might pull ivy from the bark of a tree, it was like a knife to Tseng’s gut.

Everything was different now. They were just words, but their impact was greater than the piercing pain of Masamune through his flesh.

Rufus loved him, and it _hurt_.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Rufus said. “You just came back from a mission. I’m sure you’re tired.”

It was a dismissal, no less devastating for its gentleness.

“Of course,” Tseng managed to say, squeezing the words past the unshed tears clogging his throat. “Goodnight, Mr. President.”

The next few days were strange. Rufus thought that things might change drastically, yet he had no idea just how irrevocably the confession of his feelings had broken _everything_.

On the one hand there was Tseng, who barely managed to be in the same room as him, much less look at him or talk to him. It was as if merely being in the vicinity of Rufus caused him unbearable amounts of discomfort, if not outright pain.

He expected that, to some extent. He hoped for something else, though that hope had always been small. But of course, the fates were not kind to him.

On the other hand there were the rest of the Turks, and Rufus should really have known how perceptive they were. None of them said anything, but he could feel their looks. He heard them whispering among each other. Watching. Waiting.

He didn’t know whether they were talking to Tseng or not. And if they were, he wondered what Tseng told them. In any case, none of them approached Rufus, which suited him just fine. They were busy dealing with the data they retrieved from the underground lab, sorting through it and managing the risks. It let him regroup himself. Even if that meant burying himself in work by throwing himself head first into planning the charity gala.

The first thing he noticed upon getting down to details was that he had no fucking clue what ‘high society’ was into these days. He had been so disconnected from all aspects of politics, media, socialites, stars and starlets that he barely even knew who he would need to invite and who to better avoid because they had recently been in a scandal.

Time to do research, and how better to do that than by killing two birds with one stone.

He brought his PHS and nothing else, dressing in loose-fitting leisure wear to go downstairs where the Turks had built their training facility. Today, he had no intention of going to the weapons range, though he missed training with his shotgun. Not only was he still too weakened by the stigma, but his fighting style also mainly relied on the fact that he was never supposed to be alone. He always had backup either from Dark Nation or a Turk.

In reality, he had never been that fit. Just strong enough to withstand the kickback from his gun. Just fast enough to run for cover if he had to. But right now he had trouble standing up for too long, and trying to fire his favored sawed-off shotgun would probably break several bones right now.

No, if he ever wanted to fight again, first he needed to build up his strength and stamina again. For that purpose, Rufus set up a treadmill in front of a screen and put on the news. Simultaneously, he pulled up several news outlets and magazines on his PHS, intending to scroll through while he ran.

He wasn’t much of a runner, to be honest. He was never allowed to go outside, not that he wanted to in the blanket of smog in Midgar. Too much of a security risk, apparently. And he didn’t really like treadmills, unless he had something else to occupy himself with. Otherwise, he was liable to go mad with boredom.

Rufus decided to start with a fast walk to warm up. On his PHS he pulled up various dossiers on people that sprang to his mind. Influencers, socialites, some of his former schoolmates, trust fund babies. The cream of the crop in terms of dirty money. His people.

Who was married, who was cheating on their wife, who had just gotten out of rehab, who had a gambling problem, who just had a smash hit on the radio, who was voted most fashionable?

Then there was the nouveau riche. Profiteers that stepped up the social ladder by being in the right line of work at the right time. CEOs of construction firms, specialized chemical and pharmaceutical labs, various startups selling good, honest work.

He increased the speed of his treadmill to a light jog while he thought about his options.

It was hard to forget sometimes that not the entire world looked like Midgar and Edge. Not every place in the world had been hit as hard. Not everywhere did people still struggle to survive, and to rebuild their lives. Sure, Geostigma had been a global problem, but even then it had mostly been concentrated around Midgar.

The Gold Saucer still entertained guests, Junon still proudly presented its diamond upper crust while hiding its seedy underbelly, and Costa del Sol still enjoyed its reputation as the top vacation spot, which naturally attracted the rich and beautiful.

The disasters of the last few years had impacted mainly the already marginalized populations. Those who already were privileged only gained in influence.

How could he turn this around? Who did he need to call, whose hand needed kissing, which phrasing, which images, what fragrance, what visuals were required to attract the right people?

How to most effectively empty these fat purses bursting with money so he could pour it into the WRO’s efforts to rebuild and move society into the future?

There was no way he was ever going to come up with a solution in just a few days But by the time his thighs and lungs burned, there were at least some names and ideas floating around in his brain. He’d let them stew for a while, before likely contacting a few old friends and new faces. Slowly reintroducing himself into high society, the way one would release a rehabilitated animal into the wild.

This exercise had also very conveniently distracted Rufus from the fact that things were currently very awkward in the house. And wasn’t that a thing? He’d almost forgotten he confessed his unwanted feelings to Tseng, who was now understandably upset at having had his entire worldview uprooted.

Rufus hadn’t anticipated just how deeply this had affected all of them. The entire atmosphere in the house was too quiet. Like the other Turks were just waiting for either Tseng or Rufus to blow up.

Healen Lodge was empty now, and had been for a while. In the beginning, Rufus had intended it to be a haven for those afflicted with the stigma. But too few were willing to leave their homes for a place that was unlikely to bring them lasting curative treatment. And those that did come died faster than they could bring in new people.

By the time Rufus got the stigma, he was basically the only patient left. Ever since then, Healen Lodge was transformed into Rufus’ care home, and the Turks’ new headquarters.

The main house was where they all spent the majority of the time. It contained the community kitchen and living spaces in the front, and the Turks’ office, as well as Rufus’ office upstairs. It still had Rufus’ bedroom in the back, adjacent to Tseng’s so that in case his health deteriorated someone was nearby. This setup was no longer needed, and Rufus wondered whether Tseng might move out to one of the auxiliary houses soon, where the other Turks had set up their private spaces.

He’d have the main house all to himself then. How wonderful. Maybe he could turn Tseng’s room into a second walk-in closet.

After carefully winding down from his exercise he took a quick shower and grabbed some fruit from the kitchen in lieu of lunch. The entire common area was quiet, which meant that either the Turks were out or holed up in their office.

Maybe that was for the best, Rufus thought as he finished munching on his fruit and curled up on the couch with a blanket for a digestive nap.

He awoke to the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Elena’s snort-laughter, mixed with Reno’s braying wheeze and Rude’s smooth chuckles. Rufus stretched and yawned, checking his PHS for the time. Dear gods, he’d slept right through dinnertime. He should have set an alarm.

He sank back onto the couch, feeling too exhausted and lazy to get up for dinner. Except, of course, he could never just be allowed to wallow in peace.

“Are you hungry, sir? We ordered in some food, if you like.”

Gaia. He was too tired for this.

Plastering a smile on his face he sat up again, taking the carton of steaming-hot food offered off Tseng’s hands. Noodles or somesuch. His stomach cramped in protest.

“Thank you, that’s perfect.”

He started eating, appreciating the warmth of the food if nothing else. It had been a while, so he wasn’t that used to using chopsticks, and he had to concentrate a little harder than usual. Which was also how he apparently missed the fact that Tseng sat down next to him.

Rufus froze mid-bite, feeling Tseng pull up the blanket around his shoulders. It must have slid off earlier.

“Why are you always so cold?”

Trying not to let anything show on his face, Rufus hummed and resumed eating.

“Terrible circulation and low blood pressure, you know that,” he answered between one bite and the next.

He expected Tseng to continue nagging, or to get up and leave, but he did neither. He sat there silently, one hand still on Rufus’ shoulder. It tingled distractingly, making him hyper aware of that part of his body.

Rufus waited, eating despite his protesting stomach, but when nothing else was forthcoming from Tseng, he sighed. He set the carton of half-eaten food onto the low table and stabbed his chopsticks into it.

“What is- …?”

He was interrupted by Tseng’s gasp as he leaned forward to grab the chopsticks and pull them out of the food. With almost exaggerated care he laid them over the top of the rim of the container instead.

“Superstitious?” Rufus asked, surprised.

“Just don’t do it.”

They looked at each other, probably for the first time in days. Rufus could see that Tseng was shaken. He hadn’t done that on purpose, yet still.

“Sorry,” he offered.

That seemed to deflate Tseng, who sighed deeply and shifted his eyes to stare at his hands folded in his lap instead.

“No. It is I who should apologize. I have been avoiding you.”

“Really? I didn’t notice,” Rufus drawled. At least it earned him a reproachful glare. That was something he was familiar with. He sighed. “Go ahead.”

Tseng visibly steeled himself.

“I tried to stay away from you, these last few days, because … When you told me that you loved me, it hurt. And I cannot imagine how much pain I must have caused you over the years. How awful it must have been for you, to- ... So, I tried to give you space.” Tseng sighed shakily. “But the truth is, I miss you. And that hurts even more. That I would be so selfish as to want your company, when my presence likely only reminds you of … of the fact that your feelings … that I- ...”

“You silly fool,” Rufus muttered, not without fondness. “I love you. Why would I want you anywhere but with me?”

Tseng’s eyes widened then, with a look of such astonishment that Rufus couldn’t help the surge of affection. He laughed and leaned forward, doing what he had always wanted to. He pressed a kiss to Tseng’s brow, just below the mark on his forehead, lingering for just a moment, to savor the warmth.

“Don’t hide yourself on my account. I would rather return to how things were before I told you how I felt than to lose you entirely.”

“You will never lose me, not if I can help it,” Tseng said.

“Good, then.”

He went back to picking at his food, trying to convince himself that this was fine. He was fine.

It got better, when a short while later Rude came into the living room to put on a movie. Elena followed shortly after with a huge bowl of popcorn, and Reno brought beer. Rufus declined both the food and the alcohol, but he ended up sitting through two movies back to back. They seemed to be from the same franchise of terrible action films, which the Turks apparently loved to hate and dissect for its inaccuracies. Rufus didn’t really see the appeal, but it was comfortable.

Wherever Tseng went, the others followed. They had taken Rufus back into the fold, and he told himself that this was all the family he ever needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that was the unhappiest love confession I have ever written ... However, I promise it is just taking them time to sort things out. They had one kind of relationship for years, so changing that takes not only time but it also upsets a lot of their current worldviews that they have. Now that those three words are out there though, Tseng can examine where he stands in this.
> 
> Next chapter is going to be good, I promise. All the tears will hopefully be worth it.


	7. What does it feel like?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tseng is a thief in the night - but Rufus does not mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE'S THIS IS THE PERFECT CHAPTER I DID NOT PLAN THIS IS SWEAR

There was a nagging feeling keeping him from falling asleep. Tseng had been tossing and turning for over half an hour now, with a rising sense of anxiety that only got worse as time went on. The house was quiet - Rude, Reno and Elena had left a while ago, happy and relaxed after their movie marathon. Rufus should be asleep by now as well, which meant that Tseng was all alone with that feeling.

Another half hour or so later, Tseng gave up. He was ablaze with this nervous energy. It drove him out of bed, out from under his covers and into the dark quiet of the house.

At first, he went into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of milk, sipping it slowly in the eerie stillness of a world asleep.

Gradually, his thoughts slowed enough for him to decipher them. Carefully, he sorted through them, putting them to rest, so that he could hopefully sleep as well.

At the forefront, his mind was still preoccupied with the data they found at that abandoned research site. The few things they could salvage painted a worrying picture. It seemed to indicate a subdivision of Shinra that even the Turks had no knowledge of, though perhaps Tseng needed to reach out to Veld to see whether he knew more. In his time as the Director of General Affairs, he used to have a higher standing and more of the late President Shinra’s trust than Tseng ever did. And though Tseng had Rufus’ ear, there were many things that his father never told Rufus either.

Whatever bones they had unearthed, Tseng feared that they were far from harmless. The things that Rufus’ father was interested in, the lengths he was willing to go to, they were just a few of the reasons why Tseng agreed, once upon a time, to help Rufus usurp his father’s position. Tseng could have lived with a cruel and greedy man at the helm of the Shinra Electric Power Company. He could have forgiven the hunger for more, the desire to conquer and subjugate.

He could not, however, look away any longer when the realities of the SOLDIER program, the Jenova Project, Aerith’s past and Hojo’s inhumane experiments started to coalesce into a grander, more horrifying picture.

This was no longer about wanting power or money. Those were the deranged, immoral ravings of a man consumed with a lust for more that went beyond even a Turk’s stretched morals.

Tseng could justify the assassination of a former employee selling industry secrets to competitors. He could justify blackmail, coercion, torture and other abominable actions, as long as he believed in the greater good. Better to dirty his own hands and prevent greater calamities.

But what the former President Shinra and especially the Research Department had gotten into went beyond justification.

They had to go. And they were gone. But their work, their legacies, still lived on. Hidden underground, sequestered away, decentralized and compartmentalized. Was there anyone who knew it all? Would they ever know whether they had found - and burned - everything?

It was troubling, to not know. Tseng of the Turks was not used to it.

Which led him to the second topic his mind kept circling around. Rufus.

His first instinct upon finding out that Rufus loved him was to withdraw. Tseng did not return his feelings, and that meant that he was hurting Rufus, right? It was logical to put distance between them, to give both of them some time to regain their balance.

Except, Tseng never felt himself gain any sort of psychological equilibrium, even as the days went on. In fact, his emotional stability and mental wellbeing only suffered. And from what he saw of Rufus, or judging by what the others observed, his position did not improve either.

_ I love you _ , he’d said, like it was the simplest thing.  _ Why would I want you anywhere but with me? _

And was that it? Could Tseng really go back to being and acting as if he did not know?

Rufus did not behave any differently, it was true. What he said made sense. It must have always been there, that feeling. He was as he always was, both mysterious and so utterly, intimately known to Tseng. He was an enigma. He was the man Tseng was willing to follow to the death. He was the one Tseng went to for their shared facsimile of comfort when he was troubled or tired.

Unawares, Tseng found himself clutching his hands to his chest, in an attempt to alleviate the sudden ache in his heart.

His feet carried him silently and unbidden through the corridors of the house, down a very familiar path that led to a single door. He almost knocked on it out of habit, only stopping himself once he realized that he would be disturbing the hypnotic hush of the night. Instead, he quietly slipped inside, muffling the click of the door’s lock with practiced hands.

Rufus had not drawn the blinds, letting in the cool moonlight. The entire room was awash with its silvery blue glow, from the carpeted floor to the pristine white covers on Rufus’ bed. The duvet was so thick and full of fluffed down that Tseng couldn’t even make out the shape of Rufus underneath. Only his head peeked out on top.

He had not heard him come in, so Tseng continued to delicately roll his feet in a manner that reduced the sound of his steps down to nothing. His silk nightclothes also produced no friction and therefore no noise. He was a mere shadow, a blotch of black ink upon the white surface of Rufus’ bedroom.

Tseng made his way around the bed, carefully watching the angles to keep his shadow from casting over Rufus. As soon as he could see his face, relaxed in deep slumber, he stopped.

Something inside him uncoiled, and he took a silent breath.

When he was here with him, things stopped mattering. It was so easy to just be, when he was with Rufus. The worries of his job, the complications between them, it all fell away. Together, they were always at their best. It was only when they parted and Tseng left Rufus’ side that things went downhill.

He let instinct guide him to the other side of the bed, where he carefully slid under the covers. Tseng took care to keep his movements slow and smooth. The mattress barely dipped under his weight, and Rufus slumbered on, unaware.

It made him feel a little bit like a thief in the night. It wouldn’t be the first time. But instead of breaking and entering in order to abscond with sensitive material or intel, he was here to steal comfort and solace.

The first touch of his palm to the warm spot between Rufus’ shoulder blades earned himself a low, sleepy hum. Tseng froze, waiting. But when nothing else happened, he trespassed further, coming to let his body rest in the same dip of the mattress that Rufus occupied.

If it were Tseng, or any of the other Turks, he would have woken up long ago. But this was Rufus, who was, despite his mettle, not a trained assassin and spy. He did not sleep with a gun under his pillow, and his senses were not honed to alert him to Tseng’s presence. Instead, he shifted, just enough to slot perfectly into the curve of Tseng’s body.

Surprised, Tseng froze for a moment. He braced himself, expecting Rufus to wake up and ask him what he was doing - a question for which he would have no answer. But Rufus did not rouse himself. He only settled more comfortably on his side, leaning back against Tseng like he literally trusted him to hold him in his sleep.

He curled his hand around Rufus’ hip to secure him. Just when he was relaxed enough and resolved to sleep, a pair of very cold feet brushed against his ankles to leech the warmth from him.

Hissing under his breath, Tseng made a mental note to force Rufus to wear socks to bed in the future. Then, he caught himself. Did he intend to repeat this? Was he going to steal himself into Rufus’ bed to secretly, what, cuddle him to sleep again?

Well. Rufus was much more manageable like this.

Chuckling silently to himself, he pressed his nose against the nape of Rufus’ neck in revenge. Rufus only reacted with a small grumble and by further curling up. It made it slightly more difficult to keep his head tucked against Rufus’ neck, but it was good enough. He inhaled, filling his senses with the fading bergamot scent of the aftershave that Rufus preferred. It was as familiar to Tseng as his own.

He held him in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath fragile flesh and bones. This delicate heart that loved him.

Tseng pressed closer, closer to that love. It was like his heart echoed with it, responding to the proximity and drawing him in.

He was too tired at this point to further examine what he was feeling. It was too late into the night, Rufus’ warmth too much, the bed too comfortable. He simply decided not to question himself, and closed his eyes.

He woke up feeling warm and safe. Cocooned, cradled, utterly secure and without a care. He had no urge to open his eyes and greet the day. There was only quiet. He was so content that for the longest time he did not quite know who or where he was. Time held no meaning as he drifted on the verge of dreaming.

Gradually, he became aware of the gravity of another body next to his. His mind immediately sprang to the most obvious association, and he smiled, eyes still closed.

“D?” he muttered, reaching out behind himself and expecting to pat the sleek, leathery skin of his beloved guard hound. Instead, he was met with soft silk that flowed under his fingers like water.

He turned his head far enough to see that he was not, as he mistakenly believed, in Shinra Tower with Dark Nation guarding his back. Instead, he quickly looked to the window, seeing not the mako-green, polluted view onto the Midgar upper plates, but the treetops surrounding Healen Lodge.

Yet none of it explained why Tseng was fast asleep in bed with him.

Was this a dream? He could scarcely believe that this was real and not some sort of illusion. He was warm, suffused with the heat radiating off Tseng. It was a little like having borrowed some of him. Like he’d taken a bit of Tseng and now kept it wrapped in his veins.

It wasn’t a dream, he decided. It was a gift.

In the early morning light, Rufus gazed silently at the face of his most beloved person. He did not need to commit it to memory. He already knew every inch, every angle, the exact shade of black of his hair, which currently spilled freely onto the mattress.

Rufus did not often get to see Tseng asleep. In fact, he could probably count the times he’d seen him sleeping - or unconscious - on the fingers of one hand. It was always because he had exhausted himself past his limit, or because he’d been injured and passed out due to pain or blood loss. Never before had Rufus had the privilege of seeing Tseng truly, blissfully relaxed and asleep.

He settled back down, sinking into the weight of Tseng’s arm around his waist. Rufus tried not to read too much into it, but it was difficult.

Tseng knew about his feelings. Though Rufus told him that he no longer needed to put distance between them out of consideration for said feelings, he did not expect this. He did not expect such kindness and generosity - if it was that.

Rufus lay there, watching the sun rise over the treetops to remind himself of his place. Sometimes he still dreamed that he was in Midgar, the contaminated, mako-tinted night outside his window. Sometimes he dreamed about Meteor burning his vision, or the flash of Diamond Weapon’s attack directed at him. Even as a child he had been afraid of the sky, feeling a vague sense of threat from that vast, empty space. He always had Dark Nation stand between him and windows, just as a silent precaution.

Nobody else knew of those fears. He never told anyone, in any case, though perhaps the Turks may have noticed. Most of the time he forgot, even when standing freely outside with nothing strapping him down and no roof over his head.

He much preferred seeing the trees sway in a gentle breeze, the occasional birds rushing past. A warm body bracketing him from behind, and an arm slung across his waist.

It made him feel present and real, the same way looking at the starry sky made him feel terror and awe.

Tseng finally stirred behind him by the time the sun had fully risen, casting warmth and light into the room. His arm tightened and his fingers flexed in a stretch. Then, there was a quiet yawn.

“Are you awake?”

“Mm,” Rufus hummed.

“I apologize if this made you uncomfortable. I could not sleep.”

“So you decided to sneak into my bed?” he asked, shifting carefully so that he could turn around and look at Tseng directly.

“I’m sorry.”

He smiled and cupped Tseng’s cheek. It fit perfectly into the curve of his palm.

“No,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Tseng’s brow furrowed as his eyes darted back and forth, searching Rufus’ expression.

“I don’t understand. I thought perhaps I overstepped. If that is not the case, I am glad. But … why would you thank me?”

“For the privilege of this. Waking up to you next to me. Seeing you like this.”

“Like what, wrinkly and crusty from sleep?” Tseng complained, rubbing his eyes.

“No. I see you warm, and soft, and comfortable. Relaxed. At rest. And yes,” he chuckled, “it is good to see you not completely put together for once.”

“Why?” Tseng asked, honestly confused.

“Well. I think it means that you trust me. And … I’m honored.”

In response, Tseng leaned into Rufus’ palm. He looked thoughtful, quietly allowing Rufus to trace the curve of his cheek with his thumb. After a while he reached up to wrap his hand around Rufus’ wrist. He did not pull him away or do anything else. Tseng’s fingers just rested loosely around his wrist. Holding him in place.

“What does it feel like?” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“What does it feel like … to be in love?”

Rufus huffed.

“Surely you know. You have been in love before, right?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure anymore.”

Instead of meeting Rufus’ eyes, Tseng turned his face into his palm, filling the hollow of his hand with his breath.

“Imagine,” Rufus started to say, slowly, drawing the words from a soft place inside his heart, “that you are standing at the shores of an ocean. In front of you, there is the unknown sea. You can’t see anything but the wide expanse of water, you can’t hear anything but the rushing of the waves, and you can’t smell anything but the briny wind.

“You wonder what is out there. How you might cross this terrible wasteland. You’re all alone, just one man. You don’t have a ship. You’re not sure you know how to swim. But all that you have ever known is this. That ocean, the simultaneous fear and desire to cross it.

“You stand there, watching the sun rise and set. Nothing ever changes. The waves crash against the shore. The wind carries the taste of salt. The light reflecting off the water is nearly blinding. You’re alone, but that’s just how things are.

“And then, one day, somebody calls your name.”

When Rufus said this, Tseng’s eyes opened. In the early morning light, the brown of his irises lit up with color, like fire.

He leaned in closer, continuing: “Somebody calls you, and you turn around. And that’s when you see … a field. Behind that there are rivers, a city, mountains, an entire world that you have never seen before. And you see … that person.

“That’s when you realize that the whole world belongs to you. If you want to, you could stay. You could learn all there was about this new world you have just discovered. You could follow them where they lead you.

“Or you could sail the seas like you always dreamed about, because that person would come with you. With them, you know it would be possible.

“Either way, you would be happy. Because you are no longer alone.”

To his surprise, Tseng averted his eyes again with a wince.

“What if,” he whispered into Rufus’ palm, “they do not want to travel with you?”

“Well. You would be sad, of course. But they have shown you that there is more to life than just that ocean. You can explore the fields, climb those mountains, and think of them. You can be grateful for what they have revealed, even if they won’t be there with you.”

Tseng was silent then, breathing evenly for a long while. Rufus let him, waiting.

“I always thought that love was … something different.”

“What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know. What you’re saying, it sounds like something from a story. It doesn’t seem real. Except …”

When Tseng did not continue for a few moments, Rufus said: “Well, it doesn’t have to be like that for everyone, I suppose. You asked me. And so you are getting my answer.”

“So, there isn’t just … one love?”

“No, I don’t think so. People are different, and therefore love will be different too.”

“What about people who are in love with each other, then? Is love the same thing for the both of them?”

“Tseng. Why are you asking me this now?”

"Because," he whispered. "What if …”

Rufus inched closer so that they were nose to nose, breathing each other’s air. Tseng’s eyes still glowed, staring now unwaveringly into Rufus’ own.

“Imagine,” he began, like drawing words from deep within himself, “that you live in a house on the Midgar upper plate. Maybe in Sector 5. It’s a big, beautiful house that has a lawn, but the lawn is empty and barren, polluted and unusable. You are sad about that, but you leave it. It’s just how it is.

“You live in that house, and it’s wonderful. You are happy. There are other people living with you, and you love them. They are your family.

“But then one day you see one of them sneaking out. They leave the house, so you follow them. And then …”

Rufus gasped, pressing closer when he saw the tears in Tseng’s eyes. But Tseng smiled through them, holding Rufus’ wrist.

“And then you see the lawn, and it is full of flowers. Beautiful, vibrant flowers that you never even knew were there because you thought it was impossible to grow them there. But this person … they planted them, and nurtured them, and watered them. And you …”

Now, the tears spilled over, tracing trajectories over Tseng’s skin that Rufus could not stop.

“You don’t know what to do,” Tseng whispered. “Because you never expected anything like that. What should you do? What am I supposed to do?”

“I think … you should do whatever you want to.”

“What if what I want to do is this?”

At first, Rufus did not know what Tseng meant. His gaze burned, but aside from putting his arm back around Rufus' waist he did nothing. And then Rufus understood and he whispered: "Oh."

The first time their lips met, the angle was all wrong. His mouth was dry and he did not know what to do, overwhelmed with the touch of Tseng's lips against his own. But then a gentle hand tipped back his head, aligning their mouths to slot together perfectly.

"Yes," Tseng breathed in between kisses. "Yes. Rufus."

Rufus could not respond, his head and his heart too full. All he could do was to let himself be kissed, and to silently pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, am I right? :D


	8. Burdens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Turks find out about the new development between Tseng and Rufus. And Tseng opens up about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter accidentally deals with several issues I'm passionate about. One is the topic of asexuality, which in Rufus' case (in this fic) is also connected to sex-repulsion. The other topic is the issue of cultural identity. For that, I have included a really long-ass note at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Also, no promises i can keep up those almost weekly updates anymore XD We're catching up to my stockpile o__o I just finished writing chapter 10 though, and I'm excited to dig into 11! *rubs hands*

Kissing Rufus was the easiest thing Tseng had ever done. It felt so right, so natural, not even the fact that Rufus clearly did not really know how to kiss could diminish the sheer pleasure of simply exchanging clumsy presses of their mouths together.

His touch was hesitant, his lips soft and yielding. No matter how gentle or how bold Tseng was, he quietly surrendered. It was heady, the realization that Tseng had him wholly, had him open and vulnerable. It was also humbling.

He wondered, both elated and sad, whether he was the first to have this privilege.

It should have stopped him, perhaps, from pressing further without question. When he turned the kiss into something more knowing and purposeful. When he used Rufus' pliant surrender to his advantage and pushed him onto his back. When he rolled their hips together, his leg between Rufus' thighs, he should not have been surprised that Rufus reacted by pulling away sharply.

"I'm sorry," Rufus gasped before Tseng could say anything. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes averted. "I'm sorry, I can't- … This was a mistake. I can't give you what you want. Forget what just happened."

"What?" Tseng blurted out. He looked at Rufus' hands pushing against his chest, putting distance between them. "No, I am the one who should be sorry. I apologize, I went too far. I assumed- …"

But when Tseng reached out to pull him back into his embrace, Rufus turned around, showing his back.

"Tseng, have all these years not shown you? You must know it already. I am broken. There is something wrong with me."

"No. Rufus, look at me. You are not broken," he pleaded, feeling his grasp on the situation slip further and further. Just moments ago they were kissing, and now ...

"But I  _ am _ broken," Rufus insisted weakly. "I love you, yet I somehow cannot stand you touching me like that. It's wrong. I'm wrong."

Tseng’s heart ached, half elated at hearing Rufus still say that he loved him, and half in agony at hearing Rufus say that about himself. He placed his hand on his shoulder, gently turning him until he could see Rufus’ face again. When he saw the tears in his eyes, he reached out to cradle his cheek.

"Rufus. What if I told you that … I am relieved."

"What?" He sniffed, rubbing his nose, but did not dislodge Tseng’s hand, his thumb gently caressing the soft skin beneath his eye.

"I- … I am the same as you, I think. Or similar. I could have- … I am perhaps not as repulsed as you are by it. I could have overlooked some slight discomfort, if it had brought you pleasure and joy. That would have pleased me, too. But if you do not want it … I am relieved."

"Really? But … I know, in the past, you have had lovers."

Tseng chuckled, and Rufus tried half-heartedly to turn away sheepishly.

"I suppose. There is, rarely, a physical need. It seemed logical at the time to deal with it by taking a partner. There were never feelings involved though, and beyond the obvious, I did not really enjoy it very much. Too much of a hassle, to be honest."

"Does it hurt?"

Shocked into silence, Tseng reared his head.

"No. Rufus, no. It should never hurt. Did you … have a bad experience?" he asked, mind flashing with untold possibilities.

"No, no. It just seemed so painful to look at."

"It doesn't hurt. In fact, it feels good."

"Really? I have tried, um. Touching myself. But it never really felt like anything. It wasn't bad, just not that great either. I always got bored eventually."

"And have you tried with a partner?"

"Gaia, no." A pause. "You … are really not disappointed?"

"No, Rufus."

"This is enough for you?"

"Yes. More than. Rufus, I was content serving you for the rest of my life. Having this, it is more than I ever imagined. More than I ever thought I even wanted.” He leaned forward, pressing a short, chaste kiss to Rufus’ lips. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Rufus sighed. "Yes, this is … good."

Chuckling, Tseng stole another little kiss. He already saw himself never tiring of this.

"I am happy. Are you happy?"

“How can I not be?” Rufus asked in return, and for a while there was nothing else but the exchange of soft kisses between them. Every touch was different and new, and Tseng could not get enough, because it felt like nothing he had ever felt before. The sheer joy of holding Rufus’ hand, for once warm and pliant instead of stiff and rough with the cold. The happiness he felt when he pulled back a little, only to see Rufus blushing, rose-cheeked instead of frost-tipped.

In between, Tseng laughed, pressing his smile against Rufus’ skin wherever he could reach it. His face, mostly, and his throat, his hands. Rufus remained silent, his mouth neutrally unsmiling, but Tseng knew him well enough to feel the release of tension in his body.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life here, in their bubble of warmth, mapping out all the places where Rufus’ sharp edges melted into plush softness. Perhaps he was so preoccupied by that wish that he did not hear the first knock.

“Tseng!” was the only warning he got, before the door burst open.

“Boss, good morning, have you seen the Chief?” blurted Elena, stumbling into the room, only to freeze at the sight of them entangled in bed. “Oh fuck. Oh Gaia. I- … I thought you said ‘come in’! I’m so sorry!”

She blinked at Tseng. He stared back.

“Well,” Rufus drawled. “As a matter of fact, I  _ have  _ seen the Chief. As you can tell.”

“Um. It’s, uh, it’s 10am. Chief. Sir. We were, ah, wondering where you were. For the. Training session we had planned. Sir.”

“It’s what,” Tseng gasped, reaching over to the bedside table, only to realize that this wasn’t his PHS, cheerfully showing him the time. He had left it in his own room. Where it could not alert him to his schedule.

“What shall I tell the others?”

“I’ll be there in ten,” he sighed, dismissing Elena, who fled the room like she had been set on fire. Then he turned to Rufus, regretful. Their kiss tasted bittersweet, like they were saying goodbye forever instead of for just a while.

“It’s alright. I have a virtual meeting anyway.”

“Reeve?” Tseng asked, clambering off the bed.

“No. An old school friend.”

Tseng, surprised, stopped on his way to the door and looked at Rufus over his shoulder.

“Not to be too insensitive, but I thought you had no school friends.”

“Well, you’d be right, of course. School acquaintance, then.”

“Name?”

Rufus leveled him with a flat stare.

“Tseng. You don’t have to check her background and search her profile. We’re meeting virtually, not in person. She’s not going to kidnap me through a hologram.”

“She,” Tseng noted, “could still have ulterior motives.”

“I’m the one who contacted her. She has no idea what I want.”

“She could spread proof of the fact that you’re alive.”

“Well, I’m counting on that.”

“Rufus! You should have told me that before recklessly deciding to contact old friends and painting a target on your back.” He stopped himself. “I don’t have time for this right now. I need to tell the others- … Damn it.”

“I’m sorry,” Rufus said, not looking sorry at all. “But I have it handled. Trust me. And her name is Dahlia Weathersby. I knew her as a Montgomery though. She’s harmless, just a gossip.”

How would he know, if he hadn’t been in touch with her for the last fifteen years or so? Tseng filed her name away, though, and resigned himself to letting things develop on their own for now.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

Tseng opened the door, intending to push aside this matter in favor of focusing on what he needed to say to his Turks. But then he stopped, on the threshold, turning back around. He stepped up to a surprised Rufus, who was in the middle of unbuttoning his nightshirt, and kissed his slack mouth once, twice.

“You’re going to be late,” Rufus whispered, but did not pull away from a third kiss.

“I’m already late,” Tseng countered, unremorseful. “What’s a few minutes more?”

Rufus laughed.

“I’m a terrible influence on you, it seems.”

At that moment, Tseng protested. But by the time he was dressed in his Turk suit, facing Elena, Reno and Rude’s stares, he thought that perhaps there was some merit to Rufus’ words.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” Tseng began, feeling about as awkward as Elena looked. She told him, before they entered the training gym, that she hadn’t said anything to Reno and Rude. However, they clearly knew that something was going on.

“I mean, it’s not like you to be late or oversleep,” Reno said. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Tseng nonetheless had to answer.

“That is correct. I- … There is some news that I should share with you all. Namely, the fact that Rufus and I are in a relationship.” He paused. “Actually, I’m not sure. We didn’t talk about it. I mean, it is a very recent development.”

“Thank fucking Gaia.”

“Congratulations,” Rude said, smiling almost imperceptibly. “We are all very happy for you. Both of you.”

“Does that mean you’re late because you were too busy boning the boss? Or, wait, did he bone you? Shiva’s tits, Chief, give us some details!”

“I’m sorry for just barging in earlier,” Elena interrupted Reno. “I’m sure you wanted to tell us on your own time and here I went and mucked it all up.”

“Okay, but can I get a medal here or something, because I fucking called it.”

“Hey, that’s so not true!”

“Elena is right. Clearly, I was the first to realize- …”

They would probably go on forever like this if he didn’t stop them. And, Tseng reminded himself, they were actually here to train.

“Why don’t we work this out the good old-fashioned Turk way?” Tseng sighed and reached for the guns strapped underneath his mythril-lined suit jacket. “Now. Who wants to get shot first?”

Rufus was sitting at the kitchen table with his workstation, typing away at one of several dozen messages he needed to send out. He was so engrossed in it that, though he heard the door to the basement, he did not have the time to prepare himself.

“I already ordered us some lunch,” he said absentmindedly at the sound of footsteps entering the dining room. “I hope- …”

He froze, feeling a kiss being dropped on top of his head. And then he heard a quiet: “Ouch.”

Rufus peered up at Tseng standing above him, rolling his neck and shoulders. Something cracked and he winced. Rufus winced along in sympathy, cringing further when Elena sat down opposite of him and grinned at him with a still bleeding, split lip. Her teeth were pink with blood.

“Hiya, boss,” she chirped.

“What happened?”

“Oh, Turk tradition.”

“It’s how we settle our debates,” Rude added. He sat on the chair next to Elena, moving suspiciously gingerly. Next was Reno, who wordlessly bypassed them all in favor of getting to the fridge. There, he withdrew a package of frozen veggies, which he then pressed to his swollen eye.

“Remind me not to believe a single word you say, Tseng. This is what I get for taking your word for it,” he moaned.

“I was telling the truth. At the time.”

Rufus raised an eyebrow when Tseng sat down next to him with a groan.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Though, Rude, next time you decide to fling me across the room, try not to aim for the weapons rack maybe?” Tseng grumbled.

“I’ll try, Chief.”

“Did none of you have Restore materia on hand, or why are you all so battered and bruised?” Rufus asked.

“It’s against the rules,” Elena explained cheerfully.

“Well, tough. I’ll need at least one of you intact later. Preferably you, Tseng.” Reno wolf-whistled behind them, so Rufus rolled his eyes and added: “Not like that. I have business in Edge, and I need someone to fly the chopper for me.”

“Fine by me. I was going to take a few days to drop by Edge anyways. I’ll see if I can meet up with Veld while we’re there.”

“Good. Before we go, I’ll need all of your digital signatures. And you have to choose a surname, Tseng.” When he felt everyone around him tense, Rufus quickly continued: “I’m not just going to file Elena, Reno and Rude’s name changes, I’m also intending to get you all proper citizenship. For that you’ll need more than just a first name, though. There’s … some other information you need to fill out, too.”

“Send me the documents, I’ll send them back by tonight.”

“Great.” Rufus tapped on his computer a few times. “Should be in your inbox now.”

“Gaia, do you two talk about anything but shop? What, does he moan classified information in bed?”

“Oh, shut it, Reno.”

“What, I’m just curious- …”

Rufus sighed, so deeply and loudly that it disrupted their bickering. He waited a few seconds for effect, and then sighed again tragically.

“Are you gossiping tattletales who have nothing better to do than to stick your noses into mine and Tseng’s business, or are you badass, battle-hardened Turks?” he asked rhetorically.

“Well, I’m the fucking baddest of asses,” Reno quipped from the direction of the fridge, where he morosely nursed his black eye.

“Sorry, boss,” said Rude, and Elena nodded contritely.

“If you’re so bored that you have time to speculate on bedroom activities, perhaps I should make sure you have plenty to do while I’m gone. Or else I might find that Reno has started chewing on my shoes by the time I’ve returned from Edge.”

“Ew, I’d never chew on your shoes, boss. Now, the couch, however …”

“Like a bunch of overactive puppies,” Rufus stage-whispered to Tseng, who clutched his sore neck while chuckling silently. “Are you positive they’re potty trained? Should I be worried about the carpets?”

“Hey!”

They ate lunch then, all of them together at one table for the first time in a while. It was almost like it used to be between them, except that things had changed. The pall of Geostigma had lifted from them, returning a carefree joy that had been missing for a very long time.

And now, under the table, Rufus held Tseng’s hand like this was just something he was allowed to do. To have. To be able to feel his calloused thumb caressing the thin skin stretched over Rufus’ knuckles.

When Tseng kissed his cheek at the end of their meal, the other Turks cooed at them even though Tseng playfully threatened them with bullets.

“Can’t let them lose all respect,” he told Rufus with a smirk. “Young ones these days have no manners.”

“Does that mean you’re elderly, Chief?”

Reno’s quip caused an all-out brawl to break out at the dinner table, which Rufus carefully extricated himself and his workstation from. He just grabbed his things and relocated to his office, trusting the Turks to handle their own affairs.

Engrossed again in his work, he only emerged from his focused state of mind when Tseng let himself into his office some undetermined time later, wearing a stern frown. In his hands he held a steaming bowl of food.

“Did I forget the time again?” Rufus groaned, looking at his PHS. Damn. Somehow, the entire afternoon had flown by like it was nothing.

“I came by earlier, but you were on a phone call.”

“I didn’t even notice.”

While he ate, Tseng watched him, as if making sure that Rufus finished his entire meal without cheating.

“I sent you the filled-out forms,” Tseng broke the silence after a while.

“Mm.”

“You’re … not going to say anything?”

“About what?”

“I could have put in ‘Shinra’ as my last name. But I didn’t. I wrote ‘Yeung’.”

“I know,” Rufus mumbled between bites.

“Are you not upset about that?”

“No.” Rufus continued to eat for a few more moments. “I don’t need you to carry my name now to know that we care for each other. And I wagered that the name you chose had some personal significance for you.”

“It does.”

Tseng remained silent for as long as it took Rufus to finish his meal. He let him, sensing that there were gears turning in his head.

“It’s- … You know that a Turk may assume an alias after they have successfully completed their training. Some keep their first names and just drop the surname. Some take on new names, for a new identity.”

Rufus nodded to indicate that he was listening.

“Right. When I was born … My parents did not name me Tseng. It doesn’t matter what my name used to be. But I took that as my Turk name, because it served to remind me why I became a Turk in the first place.”

Tseng, just like most other Turks, rarely talked about their lives before they became Turks. In fact, it was seen as somewhat of a taboo to ask, because most of them had also left behind lives of crime, or they cut ties with other organizations and families that would find them and compromise their positions if they found out. As such, Rufus had never had any interest in knowing his Turks’ entire life stories. What mattered was that they were here, and they were good at what they were doing.

He still listened intently, realizing that for Tseng to share this much with him was a monumental show of trust.

“It is an open secret that I am from the continent of Wutai,” Tseng continued after a short pause. “It was never something I wished or was able to hide. However, mostly for non-Wutai it was somewhat confusing, since I joined Shinra during a time where tensions between Wutai and Shinra were high. And then the war broke out, which caused many to doubt whether I would remain loyal to Shinra.

“Veld knew, and vouched for me. Because I had told him that no matter what, I would always hate Wutai more than I would ever hate anyone or anything else.”

Rufus frowned and crossed his arms, confused at the true ire shining brightly in Tseng’s eyes. He sat calmly in his chair, but there was a sense of tension in his bearing that only showed itself in how tightly he clenched his fists.

“What happened?” Rufus asked.

“Nowadays, Wutai is seen as one continent, united under one nation. Most of the continent is considered inhospitable, with only the north surrounding Wutai Village being densely populated. However,” Tseng added to what was generally known to everyone, “in the south there are some islands that were inhabited long before they became of interest to international trading. The people who lived there had similar beliefs and spoke similar languages to the people living on the Wutai mainland. But they were also different.”

“Wutai … They conquered them,” Rufus guessed.

“It wasn’t a war so much as a slaughter. Genocide, if you want to be precise.”

“Your family?”

“We managed to flee to the mainland. The only one who died during the massacre, killed at the hands of the Kisaragi, was my eldest brother.” He paused and raised his chin. “His name was Tseng.”

“I see,” Rufus said, past the nausea filling his mouth with a bitter taste.

“I was too young to remember anything. I have no memory of him or our ancestral home. But I do remember my mother’s weeping. I remember my elder sister hiding her tattoos,” Tseng said, brushing his fingers against the backs of his hands, “and I remember my second brother vanishing one day, shortly after my father had died. One after another, we broke apart, with no prospects. When my sister was married off to another village for the meagre price of two goats, it was the last straw. I left, never looking back.

“It was spite that brought me to the eastern continent. It was what Veld saw in me, what made him want to recruit me. It was a feeling of petty revenge, when I realized I was working for the company that wanted to do to Wutai what Wutai did to my family. And though that caused its own set of conflicting emotions, it is why I am here, now, as I am.

“And so,” Tseng sighed, “I suppose it is only right that I reclaim the family name we lost when we were displaced. I already took my eldest brother’s name, after all.”

“That is a heavy burden to bear.”

“It’s not like the Shinra name is any less of a burden to carry for you,” Tseng pointed out.

Rufus shrugged.

“Sure. But … Thank you for telling me this. You didn’t need to. I am glad you did, though. I had no idea,” he admitted. “Not about Wutai, and not about you.”

“I never liked talking about it. My identity is a point of contention even for myself.” Tseng laughed mirthlessly. “I am Wutai, yet I despise Wutai for what they have done to my family and my people. And at the same time, I am a Turk. I am Shinra. I have found a home and an identity here that suits me, that welcomes me. Here, I can be whoever it pleases me to be.”

“That’s good.”

“I think … My name no longer needs to remind me of the pain and suffering of my family. I think it can just be about remembrance now.”

Rufus nodded, not fully understanding himself, because there was no way he could understand the pain and conflict within Tseng. Not without having lived it himself. But he could understand wanting to change what one’s name stood for, and using one’s name as a symbol for change.

He wanted to ask about Tseng’s remaining family. His mother, his sister. Whether he knew how they were faring. But he had already shared so much, it was not Rufus’ place to pry further.

“Thank you,” Tseng added quietly, “for giving me this choice. And for making me think about what I want. For too long I have only done what others have told me. I have followed, more or less willingly, submitted myself to the rule of others. But recently you have challenged me, and made me search myself. How I feel about you, especially.”

_ And how do you feel about me? _ Rufus wanted to ask, but he didn’t. Did he really need to know? Was it not a stupid question? They had kissed. Tseng was here, with him. Did anything else matter?

Perhaps it was time to lay his own doubts and fears to rest.

“Come,” he said, rising to his feet. He took Tseng’s hands in his own and pulled him to stand as well. “It’s the least I could do, after all that you’ve done for me.”

All that Tseng had given him. His time, his life, his skills, his care. All that Rufus could repay him with was his love, and hope that it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the topic of Tseng's past:
> 
> I find Wutai very confusing. Its name evokes China, from a phonetic standpoint. However, the few Wutai characters we have are named after a wide hodgepodge of linguistic and cultural references. Plus, the “ruling class”, if you can consider Godo and Yuffie Kisaragi to represent that, as well as the appearance of their military forces (the whole ninja/samurai aesthetic of the enemies for example in Crisis Core and also Yuffie’s kit) is more reminiscent of Japan than China. Which, okay, maybe Wutai is just generally representative of East Asia? But it’s still kind of weird to name the country/continent in a manner that evokes China and then have your ruling class have Japanese names and a Japanese aesthetic. Considering, you know. Their history. *uncomfortable silence*
> 
> Then we have Tseng, whose name is Chinese-ish, but in its canon spelling phonetically closer to Cantonese or perhaps even Lao/Thai languages. Otherwise, it should be spelled Zheng. Plus there’s his mark/tattoo that is generally considered to be a tilak, which makes no cultural sense at all because that’s an Indian (Hindu, specifically) mark … Unless it isn’t a tilak and he is ethnically one of the Dai people, who are one of the officially recognized ethnic groups in modern China. They, apparently, have traditions of tattooing as a rite of passage.
> 
> I’m doing a lot of stretching of the imagination here, as you can see.
> 
> I didn’t want to “assign” Tseng any culture specifically (that’s stupid), but to me all of this suggests to me that if his general appearance was deliberately derived from a real-world equivalent, he would be either from southern/southwestern China, Laos, Thailand or perhaps even Myanmar or Vietnam, possibly Hong Kong. And considering the real-world history of these places, I kind of started seeing Tseng as someone who, to people from Midgar, would immediately be recognizable as Wutai (“He looks Asian”) … And he is, but I’d imagine he could be from an ethnic minority in Wutai, which was oppressed and displaced, like so many were and still are. Diametrically opposed, as such, to the (Japanese) ruling class represented by the Kisaragi family.
> 
> So I just kind of went hogwild with worldbuilding. Mild references to real-life events like the Sino-Japanese War(s) and/or the Cultural Revolution’s persecution of ethnic minorities, which I am by no means an expert of. Because it gave me a somewhat logical answer to the question why the heck a person presumably from Wutai should support Shinra, during a time when Shinra was waging active war against Wutai.
> 
> I’d just like to put this out there, because it kind of bothered me that there were such strong and clear connotations tied to Wutai which then as a whole did not really make sense to me. Especially because this isn’t a story created by Westerners (because then I could kind of understand this frankly orientalist “just throw more Asian sounding and looking things in there” wild cultural hodgepodge). Instead of showing us that Wutai was diverse and culturally rich, the pieces they took don’t actually fit together. There are so few actual Wutai characters with names and speaking roles, and Wutai both as a region and an actual place with history is so … empty. I find it a little strange, and I hope that the Remake sequels can flesh this out a bit.
> 
> This is just my take on this. I have peripherally seen other people’s takes on Tseng’s past, which I am not criticizing in any way. I think they all examine and discuss various possibilities, which are often not even mutually exclusive. Questions of identity and cultural belonging are things that I struggle with myself, and as such, Tseng’s treatise on his own identity in this chapter was also somewhat of a personal catharsis. I hope this depiction doesn’t step on anyone’s toes, or if it did, I hope that you can excuse my self-indulgence.
> 
> This note got way too long, I apologize.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :)


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